


Always Together, Eternally Apart

by EmiliaOagi



Category: Ladyhawke (1985), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Transformation, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Established Relationship, Fairy Tale Curses, Hawk Castiel, Horseback Riding, Inspired by Ladyhawke (1985), Lonely Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Military Backstory, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Parental Bobby Singer, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Supportive Sam Winchester, Swordfighting, Team Free Will (Supernatural), Touch-Starved, Vengeful Dean Winchester, Wolf Dean Winchester, deancaspinefest, overuse of crossbows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23375842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmiliaOagi/pseuds/EmiliaOagi
Summary: After escaping from the dungeons of a supposedly inescapable military fortress, Sam encounters someone he'd never thought to see again: his brother Dean, estranged these 10 years. Drawn back into association with his brother, Sam soon realizes that Dean is hiding something, a secret that may have something to do with the mysterious Castiel who appears only at night.When Dean’s hawk is wounded, Sam learns the terrible truth: that Dean and Castiel are lovers, cursed to be forever apart by the very general whose fortress Sam has just escaped from.With the help of a retired Bobby Singer, Sam joins Dean in his quest for revenge against General Michael Bishop, and perhaps put an end to the cruel curse.Based on the 1985 movie Ladyhawke.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 53
Kudos: 165
Collections: Dean/Cas Pinefest 2020





	1. Escape and Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> It's here! I'm super excited to finally share my Destiel/Ladyhawke fic with you all. It's the single longest work I have finished in over five years as well, and has been my pride, joy, and occasional vexation for the last several months. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Aceriee's amazing art for this can be found at the ends of chapters one and two respectively, as well as in her masterpost on ao3 [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416960) and on tumbler [ here](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/Pf20atea13th)
> 
> A Note on the Inspiration:
> 
> While this story is based on and largely follows the plot of the 1985 movie Ladyhawke, you need to know nothing about that story to read and enjoy this. That said, I highly recommend watching the film (after reading this fic of course). It's so very 80s and romantic and cheesy and has some fantastic dialogue to go with the synth pop/rock soundtrack. 
> 
> Acknowledgments and Thanks:
> 
> This fic is near and dear to my heart and truly a work of love. Much work went inot it, and not all of it was mine. My thanks, love, and appreciation goes to the following people:
> 
> To [Aceriee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aceriee) for the absolutely gorgeous art and the lovely scene dividers! I'm so in love with this artwork, and so so pleased and lucky to have gotten to work with her.
> 
> To [Threshie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie) and [Wargurl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wargurl83) for brainstorming and generally listening to me alternately bemoan and celebrate the writing of this for the past 6 months, and then turn around and be the best betas a writer could ask for. This story would not be half as coherent or even finished if not for thier help!
> 
> To [Jemariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemariel/) for being my first reader and doing a final round of SPAG. 
> 
> To Mittens and Cass for modding this challenge and for coping so well when things got a little hectic in the world. Pinefest is my favorite fest to read and I am delighted to have gotten to create for it this year.
> 
> To all my fellow Pinefest writers for the help with brainstorming and encouragement in discord. I'm so excited to read your fics!
> 
> And thank you to all my friends who had to listen to me whine and complain and be giddy and excited for months on end. I love you all!
> 
> And now, without any further ado, your feature presentation:

_This remorseless black separation_

_I bear equally with you._

_Why cry? Rather, give me your hand,_

_Promise to come again in a dream._

_I am with you like grief with a mountain_

_In this world, for us, there can be no meeting._

_If only you could send me at midnight_

_A greeting through the stars_

-In Dream, by Anna Akhmatova

Sam lays on the ground of a cold stone cell, eyes closed, focused on nothing but his breathing and the sounds of clanking armor approaching.

“Good news, giant,” the guard says from the cell door. “You’re to be executed today. And you’re first on the list, lucky you.”

Sam opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. 

“How is that _good_ news?”

“Well, you won’t have to live in this hellhole and eat our shitty gruel anymore,” the guard says. “So that’s a bonus. Move to the door, hands behind your back.”

Sam doesn’t move. “I’m innocent, you know.”

The guard snorts. 

“No one’s innocent. Now get over here.”

“I’m not an enemy,” Sam says, still not moving. “Was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The guard sighs loudly. 

“Very well, if you want to do this the hard way.”

The guard unsheathes his sword, then fiddles with the key ring at his waist. The door creaks open, and Sam tenses.

The moment the guard is in the cell, Sam moves, fast as he can.

The guard is expecting it, of course. He raises his sword, but Sam manages to get to him before he can strike and knocks the sword out of his hand. It clatters to the ground. 

“You bloody-” the guard starts, and Sam gets him in a headlock. With one hand he rips off the man’s helmet and then squeezes tightly around his now-exposed throat, grappling the man as they both topple to the floor.

The guard struggles, kicking and punching Sam in the side, on the arms, anywhere he can reach. Sam holds on through sheer force of will, tightening his grip as much as he can.

At last, the guard stops kicking, and Sam holds on just a moment longer before he releases him. He pants, rolling the fully armored guard off him and scans him, glancing at the open doorway.

It’s tempting to run, but he’d just get thrown back and executed anyway, so Sam bends down. He checks the guard’s pulse and finds that the man is still alive. That forces him to move faster.

A few minutes later, he’s walking out of the dungeon wearing the guard’s armor. It’s ill-fitting and too tight across the chest, but he gets not a single second glance from the other guards he passes.

He walks the corridors, searching for the hallway that takes him to the door he’d been brought in through. He’d done his best to memorize the path when they had dragged him and the other captured prisoners in, but he still takes a wrong turn and has to backtrack a couple times.

At last, he recognizes a couple of stained glass windows and knows he’s just two turns away from freedom. He quickens his step.

Captain Zachariah Marquet enters the dungeons with two men at his back. It’s execution day in Aquila, and he likes to personally take care of escorting the prisoners to the gallows, making sure everyone is in their proper place.

He compares the cuffed prisoners in the holding cell against his list and frowns. 

“You’re missing one.” he tells the prison guard hovering nearby. “Check the cells.”

The guard salutes and heads off down the rows of cells.

Zachariah sighs and taps his foot as he waits, his good mood clouded by the annoyance.

When the guard comes back, he’s supporting another man. Zachariah recognizes him as one of the regular prison guards. 

“Where’s the prisoner?” he demands, fingers tightening around the list in his hand.

“Escaped,” the limping man says, his voice hoarse. “Stole my armor.”

Zachariah doesn’t swear aloud, but he immediately wheels on the two men accompanying him on escort duty. 

“Sound the alarm, then search every room, every nook and cranny. Find him! Or I’ll hang you in his place!”

Zachariah follows them out, though he has a different destination. He can feel a headache coming on, his good mood completely vanished. 

The general is _not_ going to be pleased.

The bells of Aquila begin to toll.

In his study above the main keep, General Michael Bishop looks up briefly from his reports, brow furrowed in broken concentration.

Far, far distant, upon the lower slopes of the mountain that overlooks the fortress city, the tolling of the bells is faint. Even so, at the sound of them, a rider dressed all in black draws up his mount and looks towards Aquila. Above him, a hawk circles. The man holds up his arm for the bird to land. 

"Now there's something you don't hear everyday," he says to the hawk. The hawk only cocks its head and blinks in reply. The rider clicks to his black horse and starts down the mountain path.

Sam’s heart pounds faster. 

He’d just reached the front entrance when the bells began tolling their warning, had seen the two guards there jump to alertness. They’d immediately bolted the door and stood alert and ready to prevent anyone from leaving that way.

Sam walks past them, continuing through the hall to the corridor across from the one he just exited.

A few moments later he hears running feet behind him.

“Has anyone you don’t know come through here?” someone demands. 

Sam’s pace quickens. 

“The prisoner stole a guard’s armor. He’s a tall one, hard to miss.”

“Someone did just go past that fits that description -- tall and wearing our armor,” a different voice says.

Sam’s paces quickens even more.

“Oi! You!” The call is directed at him, and hurried footsteps follow him. 

Sam makes a snap decision, bursting into a sprint.

“It’s him!” 

“Get him!”

The shouts of the guards echo behind Sam. He runs and turns every which way, searching for a new escape. He sends a fervent prayer to whoever is listening that he can outpace his pursuers.

Then he spots an open door and turns through it into another corridor. He follows the passage, turning at the second door he comes to. This one leads to a hall with windows on one side, and on the same side as those, a door that leads outside.

 _Thank you lord!_ He thinks and goes through it.

He rescinds that thanks two seconds later, as he realizes this is just some sort of courtyard. He curses.

There’s a small woodshed, ramshackle and looking like no one has even looked at it in months. It’s just large enough for him to duck behind, out of the view of the windows. Sam squats behind the shed while he tries to come up with a new escape plan.

His eyes fall on a grate in the castle wall. The grate is rusted, and several of the bolts look to be broken off.

Sam eyes the grate and weighs his options. The shouting is distant, and the bells have stopped ringing, but they won’t give up until they find him.

He starts stripping off the armor, pulling it all into the woodshed. 

_This had better work_.

General Michael Bishop has only just regained any semblance of concentration when Captain Marquet enters the study and salutes.

"What is it, Captain?"

"I have disturbing news, Sir. A prisoner has escaped the dungeons."

Michael looks at him flatly. 

"Impossible. No one ever escapes the dungeons of Aquila. The people of this country accept that as a historical fact.”

Zachariah swallows. 

“It appears that someone has.”

“Should this prisoner escape, it would be seen as a weakness, a flaw in our defenses that our enemy might try to exploit. The war is not going well for us, you know this. This prisoner might be the stray spark that ignites a full seige.”

“I take full responsibility, Sir,” Zachariah says, somber. “Though if he has found a way out of the fortress, it would be a miracle.”

Michael’s face remains impassive. 

“I believe in miracles, Marquet.” 

Zachariah salutes smartly. 

“If he’s out there, Sir, I’ll find him.”

“Yes. Dismissed.”

Zachariah leaves to carry out his orders, closing the door behind him.

Michael sighs, looking once more at the map on his wall. Another loose piece on the board. This news of an escaped prisoner feels like a bad omen, and the timing with the waning moon just increases the feeling. This escapee is just the first breeze, the first warning of an approaching storm.

Face set in a grim line, Michael turns back to his paperwork and gathers a few field reports. He’ll instruct every captain and advisor at this afternoon’s meeting to increase their vigilance and their defenses.

Michael has no intention of letting this ill-wind blow him or his army off-course. 

Given a choice, the sewer drains underneath the fortress of Aquila are a destination Sam would just as soon as not cross off his to-see travel list. but when the other choice is “get caught by angry guards and taken to be executed”, he supposes things could be worse. If less fragrant.

It had seemed a great idea five minutes ago, hiding behind that disused shed. Now he reconsiders, as he all but crawls through the sewer muck. The drain had sloped down and he had army-crawled through it until it met the main sewers, which were just barely large enough that he didn't feel like he was going to get stuck trying to escape this way.

Crouch-walking very uncomfortably, back aching, face screwed up against the smell, Sam sends out another prayer, _Please let there be an exit, and_ soon.

Another few minutes, another few yards. The sewer splits, and with no indication of light, Sam takes a guess at his location and turns right. It splits soon after and he turns again, wondering if he’s trapped himself in an underground maze.

Something moves against his legs and he bites back a yelp. He’s fairly certain that was not a rat...unless it was a more-than-unusually large one. Sam decides it’s best not to think about it and forces himself onward.

The sewer splits yet again ahead of him. Sam looks both ways when he reaches this turn, and there, at the end of the left turn, is a grate with light through it.

Sam heads for it, and is relieved to find this grate in even worse condition than the one in the courtyard. He pushes it and it swings out on creaky hinges.

The fresh air is a relief to his senses. Some of the sewer stench now entrenched in his nostrils is replaced with the lake-smell of the moat below him. A smell that promises freedom as he looks across to the shoreline, a mere thirty feet away.

He sends up a prayer of thanks. _Thank you Lord! You won’t regret this_.

He takes a moment to steady himself, then jumps into the water and starts swimming for the other side. 

The cold water shocks him, his body already tested and sore from the exertions of the day. His stomach cramps a little, reminding him how little food he’s actually had these past weeks since his capture. He struggles on, cutting through the water, ducking under when he hears a shout, fearful they have spotted him.

When he raises his head, he hears the shouts and alarms, but they are all muffled, inside the walls. They must not know he’s escaped the confines of the fortress. Sam grins, but wary of celebrating too soon, he swims faster, and soon gains the shore.

Checking that no one has seen him emerge, Sam wraps his arms around himself and sets off away from this cursed place.

Sam knows from the journey on the prison wagon to the fortress that there is a town not far distant. He heads in that direction, the cold air burning, his wet clothes freezing in the chill fall air. He keeps moving, one foot in front of the other, rubbing his arms for warmth.

He keeps himself from thinking about the cold too much by thinking of food, real food, not that gruel that had passed for food in the dungeons. Apples, the yellow-speckled red ones from the tree outside Bobby’s house. Berries and cabbage, old standbys he and Dean could find anywhere when they were kids. A piece of roasted lamb, warm and juicy like he’d had with Jessica and her father two Yules ago...

Buoyed by such thoughts, he crosses the few miles and comes to the outskirts of the town relatively quickly. He doesn’t enter the town proper, all too aware that the bells would have alerted the townsfolk and any lingering guards to his escape. Instead he sneaks around the edge of the village, where he’s less likely to run into anyone.

Sam sees only a couple children, and not far from where they play, a clothesline with some men’s clothing. Sending a mental apology to the person he’s stealing from, Sam pulls them down. After a quick dash behind a barn, Sam changes into the blessedly dry clothing. 

Making his way around the village, he avoids the road and the guards patrolling in, travelling as fast as he can away from Aquila and its surroundings. He plans to stop at the next inn over and bargain for a meal and a night in the stable.

When twilight falls, Sam still hasn’t reached the town. He’s just thinking about settling for a bed under a tree in the woods he’s skirting when he hears the not so distant howling of a wolf. 

_Okay, maybe not._

The howling urges his feet faster, and it’s fully dark by the time he comes to a small farm. He slips into the barn there, and lays down exhausted from his long day of escape and fleeing. 

_Sweet freedom_ , he thinks wryly. He starts making plans for the next day, and falls asleep before he gets farther than “get to the next major city.”

In the morning, Sam continues his journey, not avoiding the road, but keeping an eye both ahead and behind him. 

He stops several times, flattening himself into ditches and clumps of bushes when he hears the clatter of galloping hoofbeats, hiding until he’s sure the folks riding so hard have passed, getting his newly stolen clothes covered in dust and leaves. _At least it's not wet,_ he thinks wryly.

After the third such dive into the dirt, he emerges from the bushes only to be nearly run over by a rider on a huge black horse. Sam trips as he hurriedly steps back and tumbles to the ground. 

He picks himself up, cursing, and stares at the horse in startled recognition. The horse snorts at him. 

"Impala?" 

Sam looks up at the horse’s rider, who is looking at him with as much consternation as Sam feels in the moment.

"Sam?" the rider asks, clearly astonished.

"Dean," Sam says, staring up at his long lost brother. "I thought you were dead."

Dean flashes a smile Sam remembers all too well from when they were children. Very little about Dean seems to have changed, despite the decade since Sam last saw him.

"I nearly was. A few times over." The smile drops and Dean frowns. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

"I should be asking you that. And why you feel the need to try and run down innocent travellers."

“Not my fault you weren’t paying attention.” Dean shakes his head, grinning again. “Good to see you, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.” Then Sam relents a little, returning the grin. “Good to see you too. You headed towards Aquila?”

Dean nods. He opens his mouth to say something, but the sound of hoofbeats stops him. He turns, and the brothers see the riders approach; troops bearing the standard of Aquila. All of them are fully armed, two bearing crossbows. Sam’s stomach sinks.

“Shit,” Sam swears.

Dean glances at him, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Problem, Sammy?”

“You could say that,” Sam says. “You wouldn’t happen to have a weapon I could borrow?”

Wordlessly, Dean hands him a crossbow and dismounts, leaning against Impala’s side. The riders clatter to a halt in front of the two men, and Dean affects a casual pose, one hand placed on his sword.

The captain of the group looks at them, and his eyes widen as he sees Dean. Then he smiles a self satisfied smug little smile.

"Well, well, well. We go chasing a mouse and find a wolf instead. It's our lucky day, boys," he says, turning to the men behind him.

“Captain Winchester,” one of the guards says, surprised, but not displeased.

“Heya Richie,” Dean nods to him.

The captain turns to glare at the vocal soldier. Then he turns back, his displeased look replaced with a smirk. 

“One of my men told me you returned. I wanted to cut his throat for lying, because I knew you weren’t that stupid.”

Dean’s expression tightens for a moment, before he splashes on a cocky grin. 

"Zachariah. How do Michael's boots taste these days?"

Zachariah puts a hand on his sword. 

“Why don’t I take you to him, and you can tell me?” He nods to his men, who spread out, though the one who had called Dean “captain” and the man beside him both hesitate before obeying. “And we’ll be taking that oversized rat back with us as well.”

“You lay a hand on my brother and you lose it,” Dean says to the captain, drawing his own sword.

“Your brother?” Zachariah raises his eyebrows. “Small world. You know, I can see the resemblance. The height, that set about the mouth, that cowardly habit of running away…”

“I only see one coward here. What, too scared I’ll send you and your boys back crying? Well, there are only four of you. You should have brought more men.”

Zachariah’s mouth thins. “Enough of this.” He signals the attack

The riders ride towards them, though the two hesitant ones hold back, un-shouldering their crossbows. The two archers fire their arrows. At the same moment, Dean smacks Impala's rump, sending her straight for Zachariah.

The captain swerves out of the way. The friendly guard side-steps his horse to avoid Zachariah’s, straight into the path of the arrow meant for Dean. He falls, and his horse startles and runs into the nearby field.

Sam dodges the arrow aimed towards him and jumps off of the road, unable to do much without another bolt for the crossbow. The horse of the dead man halts not terribly far from him, and Sam runs for it.

There’s a screeching from above, and a hawk dives into the fray, harrying the archers with wings and talons. It keeps those two far too busy to fire their arrows again. 

Dean dodges Zachariah's charge, whistling for Impala. She turns and runs down Zachariah's mount, teeth bared. She snaps at Zachariah's leg and he jerks, throwing his horse off balance. Dean takes the opportunity to grab hold of his ankle and yanks him out of the saddle, throwing him to the ground. He levels his sword at the captain's throat.

“My quarrel is with Michael and him alone. Leave, and I won’t kill your miserable ass.”

Zachariah snorts. 

“Good luck with that, Winchester.”

“Oh, I’ll have plenty of luck, trust me.”

Dean withdraws his sword but holds it at the ready. Zachariah scrambles up. He raises his hands as he does so, face exaggerated in mock surrender, but he makes no move for Dean.

“I’ll be seeing you later,” the captain says, as he mounts his horse.

Dean stares him down. 

"If I ever see you again, I will stab you in your face."

Zacharaiah just snorts, and he turns to kick his heels. His remaining guards follow him. The hawk flies after and dives to harry them more.

Dean sheaths his sword and whistles. The hawk turns in the air, flying back to land on his arm.

Sam rides over on the dead man’s horse, and watches the guards ride away.

“Well that was fun. I take it there’s a little history there.”

Dean snorts. 

“Something like that.” He eyes Sam. “Looks like you’ve been leading an interesting life. Come on, we’ll want to get away from here before they return with reinforcements.”

Sam agrees.

Dean mounts the horse. Sam watches as the hawk circles above them, then follows as Dean leads the way in the opposite direction from the guards, farther away from Aquila.

General Michael Bishop frowns over his map. The last two years have not gone well for him. The enemy to the north has begun encroaching on his territory and he lacks the manpower to defeat them. The enemy is determined, and harries him at every turn.

It’s as Michael is in this foul mood, trying to decide which places he can give up and where he can best place his men and whether or not he can strike back at this time or if he must pull back his troops, when Captain Zachariah enters.

"General Bishop, sir."

Michael moves a piece on his map, considering it. 

"Captain. Have you tracked down the criminal?”

Zachariah fidgets slightly. 

“He is...not in my custody at this time.”

Michael frowns, glancing up. 

“What, do you expect to find him here? Hiding under the war table, perhaps?” He wrinkles his nose, taking in the dusty state of the captain, who appears to have neither shaved nor bathed yet that day. “And to appear before your general in such...condition.”

“My apologies sir, but I come bearing urgent news.” Zachariah pauses. “Captain Winchester has returned."

Michael looks up at that. Winchester. He hasn't thought about the wayward captain for years. 

"Has he indeed?" And if Winchester has returned...Michael wonders. “Was there a hawk?”

"Sir?"

"There should be a hawk with him. A...spirited one."

"Yes sir, there was. It attacked my men." Zachariah clearly doesn't understand the relevance of the question, but soldiers on. "There's another thing, sir. The prisoner you sent us after. It seems that he is Winchester's brother."

Well, now. Michael looks back at the map. Winchester had always had a talent for getting into and out of tight places, and Michael has at least three on his map. And if Winchester won't play, perhaps he can convince Novak back into the fold. He looks at one of his strongholds, the one he anticipates to be the enemy's next target. Yes. Either would be very, very useful. 

"New orders, Captain. Capture the brother and bring him back here. We may yet snare our wayward captain once more."

Zachariah nods and salutes. 

"Yes sir."

"One more thing," Michael says, still looking at his map. "Try not to kill the hawk. It's more...valuable than it looks. I'd like it alive, if possible. " 

"Yes sir."

Michael waves a hand. 

"Dismissed." 

Zachariah salutes again and leaves. 

Michael stares at his map, thinking. Three years of that curse ought to have at least one of them ready to take his bargain. And with the brother to bargain with as well, Winchester should be more than amiable. 

Michael permits himself the tiniest of smiles. Perhaps his fortunes are about to change for the better. 

The horse of the dead man fortunately turns out to be fairly even tempered, and doesn’t try to buck Sam off, though it flicks its ears and he has to periodically lean over and pat it, soothing it.

Sam asks, “So. The soldiers seemed to know you quite well. There a story there, ‘Captain’?”

Dean shrugs slightly.

“I spent some time working under General Bishop.”

“How much time?”

Dean hesitates. 

“Five years,” he says finally. “I started off as just a merc, like Dad used to be, and Michael- the general- took a liking to me.” He grins ruefully. “I was _very_ good at what I did. Got the promotion to captain within two years. Pissed a lot of folks like Zachariah off, of course. Upstart commoner and all that. Still, Michael liked me and I got results. That was good enough for most people.” 

Sam nods, listening. 

“So what happened?”

“I-We-” Dean pauses for longer this time. “Things changed.”

Sam opens his mouth to ask exactly how, but Dean turns the conversation. 

“Speaking of things changing, weren’t you supposed to be learning a trade or some shit? How’d you end up being chased by Zachariah and his mooks?”

Sam grimaces, grief tinging his thoughts. 

“Wool trading, Dean, I was a shop assistant.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “And I met the shop owner’s daughter-Jessica. We fell in love, got engaged. Then there was a fire.”

Dean starts to say something, but Sam stops him with a hand.

“They both died, her and her father. Wasn’t anything left for me there. Decided to head east, and got caught in some sort of ambush when crossing the border. Wound up in the dungeons.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says.

Sam tries to smile, but his mood has darkened with thoughts of Jess. 

“Thanks.”

They pass through a tiny hamlet just outside the woods of Aquila, and pause to refresh the horses. Sam buys an apple from a man on the side of the street and offers it to his new charger, which happily accepts the bribe.

They ride on into the woods, their conversation now much lighter when they do talk.

“You gonna name that horse?” Dean asks at one point.

Sam eyes it. 

“Dunno if I’m keeping it long.”

Dean shrugs. 

“Your decision. It’s a good horse though. Might be easier to have a name for it than just calling it ‘horse.’”

Sam considers briefly. He can’t think of anything, but decides anyway. 

“Charger,” he says.

Dean snorts. 

“Not very creative. Might as well name it ‘horse’.”

“It works,” Sam says defensively. “I can always pick a different name if I do keep it.”

Dean rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond. They ride on in companionable silence. It feels odd to Sam, to be back at his brother’s side, riding together as if ten years hadn’t passed.

It’s just gone twilight when they come across a charcoal burner’s hut. The charcoal burner and his wife stop their work and watch them with wary apprehension.

Dean eyes them, and looks around. 

“We’ll stop here,” he says to Sam.

Sam nods, and calls out to the charcoal burner. The man is suspicious and contrary, but when Sam pulls out a couple copper coins, the man relents, a gleam coming into his eye.

“You can sleep in the barn, over there,” the man says, nodding to a ramshackle building close to the edge of the clearing.

“Thank you,” Sam says, and makes a mental note to keep a careful eye on their valuables. 

He goes to Dean who has already settled Impala and Charger outside the barn. 

“We can stay in here,” Sam tells him. “I’d keep an eye on the charcoal burner though. Might be the type to rob us blind in our sleep.”

“You keep an eye on him, then. And good, you can have the loft, and I’ll take the stall.” He yawns. “Might just turn in now. Try not to disturb me.” Dean’s lips quirk slightly. “You how I am: liable to take your head off before I know it’s you.”

Sam snorts. 

“Yeah, I remember.”

Dean heads into the stall, taking one of the saddlebags inside with him. Sam turns and heads out.

The hawk is perched on the fence post by the horses. Sam looks at it. 

“He seem weird to you?” 

The bird cocks its head and makes a shrill chirrup noise. 

Sam sighs. “Yeah, you’re probably used to it. Maybe it’s just me.” He grabs the crossbow and heads into the forest, to get some firewood and, hopefully, find something to kill for a better dinner than the strips of jerky in the saddlebag.

That pings part of his memory. Since when does Dean go to bed without eating something? Midday was too long ago for his brother not to have been hungry.

“Something is definitely up,” he mutters to himself, spotting a squirrel. He shoots it, then ties it to his belt and turns his attention to gathering firewood as the early twilight fades into dusk.

As soon as Sam leaves, Dean goes to his saddlebag. He pulls out a bundle of letters, pressing them to his lips for a moment before setting to the side and pulling out a silver dagger. He holds it, unsheathing it for a moment before looking through the chinks in the barn wall towards the setting sun.

Dean's face hardens momentarily, as he sees the sun's rays dim. 

"One day," he swears to himself. "One. Day."

He puts the letters away and walks outside, dagger slipped into the pocket of the cloak crossing into the woods as the sun sets.


	2. Wolves and Men

A wolf howls nearby as Sam crosses back into the clearing. 

"That’s a little too close for comfort,” he says to no one in particular, dropping his bundle of sticks. He unties the squirrel he caught, and sets it next to his soon-to-be firepit. Soon he has a fire going, and the squirrel is roasting on the spit.

The wolf howls again, still far too close. Sam checks the crossbow beside him, making sure he’s ready should it decide to try for him. Something rustles in the forest behind him. He jumps and turns, but sees nothing.

Unsettled, Sam finishes the rest of the meat as quickly as he can manage, damps the fire and heads for the barn, trying not to trip in the twilight darkness. He climbs up to the loft and lays down, sighing. _What a day,_ he thinks, and closes his eyes to try and sleep.

A few minutes later, rustling below has his eyes opening. He grimaces, quietly crawling to the edge of the loft to look below.

A figure is poking through the saddlebags, and Sam sighs. The charcoal burner, just as he expected.

He tries to quietly climb down the ladder, but the wood creaks, and his step is not light. The figure turns and sees him, then drops the flap of the saddlebag and dashes out of the barn.

Sam curses and follows at a run.

He nearly runs straight into the charcoal burner. The man is carrying an axe, held as if to ward off more than to attack, and is heading back into the barn instead of away from it.

“Oof,” they both grunt in unison, and the charcoal burner drops the axe.

They stare at each other as they get up, both tense, and then they both dive for the axe.

They grapple for it, the charcoal burner strong from his work. Sam is about to gain the upper hand, when a loud snarl comes from nearby. Both men freeze, and turn to see a huge black wolf headed straight for them. They spring apart in opposite directions, scrambling to escape the beast.

The wolf, still snarling, leaps and tackles the charcoal burner to the ground. The man screams.

Sam doesn’t watch. He runs into the barn, the man’s screams and the wolf’s snarling in his ears until the screams suddenly cut out. Silence descends.

“Dean,” Sam shouts, calling for his brother even as he grabs the crossbow from where it leans against the wall. “Dean, wake up! There’s a-” he stops as he opens the stall door. Dean is gone, and Sam stares for half a second at the empty stall, then swears and spins around.

There’s a gap in the barn wall, and Sam levels the crossbow through it. He aims it at the wolf, still tearing at the corpse. Then he swears when he realizes that it’s not loaded, and scrambles for a bolt. He finds one, slipping it into the notch as he quickly returns to the gap, aiming the crossbow at the wolf.

Before he can shoot, a hand reaches from behind and removes the bolt.

“What the-”

Sam turns to see a cloaked figure turning away. At first he thinks it’s Dean, then the figure turns to look back at him

The half moon shining through the cracks in the barn wall illuminates a man with messy hair, gazing at him curiously. Sam meets the stranger's eyes for just a moment, then the man turns and heads for the door, the bolt dropping from his hand as he goes.

“Don’t go out there!” Sam says, as soon as he realizes the man’s intent. “There’s a wolf! It’ll maul you!”

The man turns again, and gives an odd look that seems at least a little amused. He shakes his head ever so slightly, and puts a finger to his lips, then turns back to the door.

Sam stares after him, turns to look through the gap in the barn wall and watches as the man, insanely, walks towards the wolf.

The wolf growls, but it stops when it turns and sees the man. The man squats down, holding a hand out to the beast. Sam is disbelieving. “What the hell is he doing?”

The wolf cocks its head, then goes to the man. It sniffs his hands before inexplicably licking them. It looks up at the man, mouth open and panting. The man strokes its head and seems to be whispering to it.

Then he rises and walks towards the woods, the wolf at his side, as if it were a trained bloodhound following its master.

Sam stares until they are long out of sight.

“What. The. Fuck.” 

Sam does not sleep well, but he does sleep. When he wakes up, he thinks the events of the previous night must have been a dream. Surely none of that had actually happened.

The bruises and ache in his shoulder from where it had hit the ground while grappling the charcoal burner tells him that that at least was real. He’s still not sure about the wolf and the man. There had been something so odd in that interaction. Vicious wolf turned to pleading pup. Unless perhaps the man had set the wolf on the charcoal burner? 

But then why had he spared Sam? Or…(and this thought is unsettling) why had he saved him? 

Shaking his head at the pointlessness of such wonderings, Sam climbs down the ladder. Dawn has broken already, perhaps two hours ago. Outside, Sam finds Dean sitting by the fire pit outside, eating some hard bread and a few strips of jerky.

Dean looks up as the fallen leaves crackle under Sam’s feet, announcing his approach. 

“Morning sunshine,” Dean says with a grin. Despite the cheerful expression, he looks nearly as tired as Sam feels. “Sleep well?”

Sam sits down by the firepit. 

“Not really. Last night was…” He exhales, words failing for the moment. Dean offers him some bread and Sam accepts it. “The charcoal burner did try to rob us,” he says, glancing down at the bread as he tears off a piece. “But then this huge black wolf attacked.”

Sam doesn’t notice as Dean’s expression tightens for a moment, instead he chews the bread and looks around the clearing. The charcoal burner’s body is no longer where it had fallen.

“I moved it,” Dean says shortly, sensing Sam’s confusion. “To the shed so his wife can do the proper funeral preparations or whatever.”

“Should we stay and help her?” Sam asks. They had done so on many occasions when younger, during their travels. Staying to help folks, often earning meals and shelter. Of course, they didn’t have trained soldiers coming after them back then. Ah, simpler times.

“I’m leaving as soon as I finish breakfast. Up to you whether you stay or not, but Zachariah won’t be cowed long. The second he reports to Michael that he’s seen me-” Dean stops and shakes his head. “He’ll be back, and better prepared. We both need to keep moving.”

He takes the last bite of his meal before standing. 

Sam finishes soon after and they pack up their gear back on the horses with quick efficiency before mounting up.

As they exit the clearing, the hawk swoops down with a shriek. Dean smiles, halting Impala as he lifts his arm up, and the hawk perches on him.

“Morning,” he says to the bird. “I wondered where you were.”

It makes a chirping noise, fluttering its wings before settling down. Dean clicks to Impala and leads them back onto the road.

Sam waits a little while before he asks, “So. Where were you last night?”

Dean frowns at him. 

“What do you mean?”

“When the wolf attacked, you were gone.”

Dean scoffs. 

“Oh, that. A man has things he has to take care of Sam. Or are you expecting me to leave you a note whenever I need to piss in the middle of the night?”

Sam makes a face. 

“No. I was just worried. Big man-eating wolf in the woods? Kind of not safe to be out.”

Dean shrugs. 

“I can take care of myself.”

It’s Sam’s turn to scoff, but as Dean clearly can, he says nothing. Realizing he hasn’t mentioned it yet, Sam adds, “There was a man as well.”

Dean doesn’t react. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Stopped me from shooting the wolf, then…” Sam shakes his head. “He walked into the forest with the wolf, like he was its master and it was nothing more than a tame hound.”

Dean half smiles. 

“Maybe it was. What did he look like, this man? Did he speak?”

Sam eyes his brother. Dean’s tone is too casual, his expression too carefully schooled.

“He didn’t say anything. Other than that...well, it was after dark, so I couldn’t really see much. Dark hair like a bird’s nest, intense eyes. That’s about all I could see in the dark.”

Dean nods. “Let me know if you see him again.” 

Sam nods, but inwardly he frowns and adds this to his mental list of “things that don’t make sense.”

At midday they stop again for another meal. The hawk brings them a rabbit, and Sam finds some wild onions that he saves for later.

“So if you’re a fugitive, what were you doing so near Aquila yesterday?”

“I heard the alarm bells.” Dean pauses, and looks at Sam. “You got out of there,” he says. “Do you think you can get back in?”

Sam stares at him. 

“Are you crazy? Why the hell would I do that?”

Dean hesitates, then says. 

“I’m going to kill the general of Aquila.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. He stares. 

“You’re crazy.”

Dean shrugs, and looks down. He methodically skins the rabbit. 

“Perhaps. You are the only one who has ever escaped from there, you know. You can get me back in.”

“Why? Jesus, Dean, that place is _literally_ a fortress.”

“Which you escaped from.”

“ _Barely_.”

Dean sighs. 

“I’ve waited three years to hear those bells, Sam, for something-anything-that could give me the edge I need to get into that godforsaken place. You can get me in there, Sam, and I can finally kill that son of a bitch.”

“No way. I barely escaped that place alive, there is no way in _Hell_ I am going back there.” Sam shakes his head. “Dean, I haven't seen you in ten years. As grateful as I am for your help defending me from the guards and all, I’m not willing to go back into the frying pan I just crawled out of.” Sam rises. “It was good to see you again, Dean.”

Dean spears the rabbit forcefully. 

“Fine,” he growls, “Go, run away again. That’s what you're good at, right?”

Sam’s expression shuts down completely. 

“Goodbye Dean,” he says, and turns, stalking back to the horses.

“No, wait-Sammy, wait.”

Sam stops not at the words, but the clear hint of desperation in Dean’s voice. He waits, not looking back.

Dean sighs. 

“Please, just-dammit, at least tell me _how_ you escaped. Even if you won’t go back.” After a moment he adds again, “please.”

Sam considers. 

“Why does this matter so much? What did the general actually do to you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I might.”

“You wouldn’t,” Dean says. “Trust me.”

It’s clear that pressing further will get him nowhere, so Sam bites his tongue. He walks to his horse and checks the saddle. Behind him, there’s silence for a moment. Then:

“You were engaged, right? The girl who died. If she had been killed by someone and you knew who had done it, what would you have done?”

Sam turns his head. Dean’s gaze is on the fire. 

“Is that what happened to you? He kill the girl you loved? ”

“No, but it's close enough to what happened that you can maybe get why it’s so important to me.”

Sam turns away and sighs, closing his eyes. 

“Dean, that doesn’t actually tell me anything.”

“I know. And you really are better off not knowing, trust me. At least stay and help me eat this.”

Sam considers, and his stomach growls, deciding for him. 

“Fine,” he says, and joins Dean again. “I’ll stay. For now.” After all, he can always leave later, if Dean insists on going back to Aquila.

Dean nods, looking relieved. He picks up a few strips of meat he’d cut off before spitting the rabbit and offers them to the hawk one by one. It snaps them up.

“You take up falconry while you were in the army?” Sam asks, watching.

Dean tosses him an odd look, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“What? No.”

“Where’d he come from then?”

Dean’s lips quirk, as if amused at a private joke. 

“He sort of just...decided he liked me. We’ve been together ever since.”

“Okay?” Sam says after a moment.

Dean just smiles a little more and when he looks back at the hawk, there’s a fondness there that Sam’s not sure he’s ever seen.

“Never thought you’d be the kind to have a pet,” Sam says. “Impala doesn’t count, of course.”

Dean shrugs and offers a final strip to the hawk who considers it then turns its head, clearly rejecting the strip. 

“He’s no more a pet than Impala is,” Dean says, laying the strip on a piece of leather. “Besides, he’s useful and brought us dinner, so don’t complain.”

“I wasn’t-” Sam shakes his head. “Never mind.”

The rabbit is ready soon after, and Dean splits the meat between them. They eat in silence, while the hawk looks on and the horses graze.

When they are done, Dean suggests they get going, automatically assuming that Sam will come with him. This rankles, but lacking anything better to do, and not really wanting to go on his own if he doesn’t have to, Sam agrees, and they pack up the camp.

They travel in silence the rest of the day, that undercurrent of resentment between them making even light conversation difficult. 

In the evening, Dean finds a spot and declares that they will camp there. Sam’s tired enough that he doesn’t object, despite there being plenty of light to travel by. He doesn’t even say anything when Dean gets up and walks off into the woods, though the sun sets and Dean doesn’t return. Sam tries not to worry too much and closes his eyes.

Sam wakes up in the middle of the night with the urgent need to relieve himself. He wanders off into the woods, and finds a good place. While he’s in the middle of this, he hears a wolf howl, far too close for comfort. As he ties his trousers and adjusts his tunic, he has the thought: _What if it’s the same wolf?_

The thought is not comforting, not with the memory of the unfortunate charcoal burner still fresh in his memory. He frowns as he walks back to the camp, and stops on the edge of the small clearing.

A man is rummaging in the saddlebags. Sam tenses, pulls out his knife. Then as quietly as he can, he stalks towards the would-be thief.

The thief hears him when Sam is only a few steps behind, the leaves beneath his feet too damp to crunch but not enough to mute all noise. The thief turns sharply at the noise. Sam registers it as the same man from the previous night, and he lunges towards the man, intent on driving the thief off. Instead of fleeing, the man takes his lunge as an attack and meets him, blocking the lunge and punching out. Sam narrowly avoids the blow. They circle each other, eyeing each other up.

Sam’s opponent is shockingly strong; strong and _fast_. They close and grapple for only a minute, the thief forcing him back. Sam attempts to lunge again, and the man turns swiftly and uses Sam’s own momentum to throw him to the ground.

Sam lays there, the wind completely knocked out of him and before he can regain the breath, the man is straddling him, pinning his arms to the side, Sam’s own knife in his hands, tip pointed at his throat.

“Who are you?” The man growls, voice deep and raspy. 

“I’m Sam,” Sam says, as if that will help or mean anything to this mysterious man. “Who the hell are you?”

Yet, the name does seem to mean something, because although the man doesn’t move his arms or even give the slightest bit of room for Sam to maneuver, surprise registers on his face. 

“Sam? Sam Winchester?”

Sam frowns in confusion. 

“Yes?”

The man looks over him now, examining him as if Sam is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. He pulls the knife back.

“I thought you’d be shorter,” the man says. He hesitates. “If I let you up, will you refrain from attacking me?”

Somewhat flummoxed, Sam nods, and the man stands, even offering a hand to help Sam to his feet. 

“Who are _you_?” Sam asks. “And why were you rifling through our saddlebags?”

The man cocks his head in an oddly birdlike gesture. He seems to consider Sam. 

“I’m Castiel,” he says after a moment. “I was looking for paper.”

That’s not what Sam was expecting. 

“Paper?” he repeats.

Castiel nods, as if it were the most usual thing to be looking for at midnight while in the middle of the woods. 

“Yes.”

Sam isn’t sure if he should ask why, but there’s a more pressing issue. 

“How did you know who I was?”

“Dean used to talk about you. This is his horse.” Castiel gestures at Impala. “It seemed like a logical guess.”

“You know Dean?” Sam looks around, suddenly realizing that his brother is nowhere to be found. “Where the hell is he, anyway?” He turns to look around the camp, and peers off into the forest.

He’s busy enough that he misses the way Castiel’s expression flickers, misses the way Castiel’s brow furrows as well as he follows Sam’s movement. 

“Idiot is going to get himself eaten by that damn wolf,” Sam mutters, turning back to face Castiel a moment later. 

Castiel laughs softly, little more than a huff. 

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. Dean can take care of himself.”

“Yeah, maybe. How do you know him anyway?”

“It’s a long story,” Castiel says, and turns back to the saddlebags, resuming his search.

Sam stares at Castiel’s back and shakes his head.

“Great, another mystery," he mutters to himself, then sits down to stir the fire back to life.

While Sam pokes at the embers of the fire, he watches Castiel. The wolf howls again, and Castiel pauses his search, looking towards the sound. It’s hard to see, in the dim light, but his expression seems almost longing to Sam.

“Is that your wolf?” Sam asks.

Castiel looks at him, startled, but his lips quirk up. 

“I suppose you could say that.”

Castiel rummages a little more, then gives up his search and joins Sam by the fire. They don’t talk, but Castiel watches him like a hawk. His gaze is intense, and Sam gets the oddest impression that Castiel is searching his face for...something, Sam doesn’t know what. The staring goes on far past comfort. Sam coughs. 

“Something on my face?”

Castiel finally blinks, and opens his mouth, then looks down, embarrassed. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sam says. “No offense or anything, but I need a little more than ‘I know Dean’ to actually trust that you are, well, trustworthy.”

Castiel nods. 

“I understand.” He seems to consider a few things, that appraising glance making an appearance again. “Dean and I used to fight together,” he says after a minute or two. “Before Michael…” he stops, tilts his head. “How much has Dean told you?”

“Not much. He never mentioned you.”

A sad smile crosses Castiel’s face. 

“I suppose he wouldn’t.”

“Does he know you’re following us?”

Castiel tilts his head in that birdlike movement that Sam is beginning to suspect is habitual with him. 

“I’m not following you.”

“You were at the charcoal burner’s yesterday, you’re here today. And you aren’t exactly traveling with us. So unless you are suggesting we’re following _you_ -”

Castiel’s lips quirk at that. 

“No, but I'm not following you either.”

Sam considers him. 

“Why were you looking for paper?”

“I wanted to write a letter.”

Sam snorts. 

“And you thought Dean would have some.”

“Usually he does. Tell him to get more.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’ll surely be back by dawn.”

The sad smile again. 

“While I would like nothing more, I doubt he will return so soon.”

“Why, where is he? Do you know?”

Castiel half smiles. The wolf howls again, and they both look towards the sound. 

“He’s out there,” Castiel says. “Follow that sound, and you’ll find your brother.”

Before Sam can ask him to elaborate on that peculiar comment, Castiel turns back to him and asks, "How is Dean?"

“He’s well.”

Castiel smiles, a slight thing. 

“I’m glad.”

“He wants revenge on the general for something. You say you fought together- any chance you know the story there?”

The humor disappears out of Castiel’s face, and he looks away from Sam into the fire. He doesn’t answer right away, but Sam waits.

“Dean...disobeyed an order. There was a town-enemy territory, where the opposing general’s family lived. He had a large family. Children, servants. All innocents. Michael wanted them killed, the town razed. A message to the other army. He asked Dean to do it. Dean refused, said that wasn’t what he signed on to do. General Bishop was furious, and locked him up.” 

Castiel looks at Sam, bleak. 

“You need to understand, Dean was….his pet, his favorite soldier. The rest of the army-they’d nicknamed him The Sword. Dean was a weapon for Michael to use. He did not take well to Dean refusing him...anything. He sent another team, and they did the deed, but Dean remained locked up.”

“But Dean escaped.”

“Yes. When Michael began to consider execution...” Castiel stares into the fire. “I sometimes wonder if that was the best decision, but we didn’t know how far Michael would go-how far he _could_ go, when crossed like that. At the time, it seemed the only option.”

“How far did he go?”

Castiel looks at him, that earlier sadness returned. His lips part as if to answer, but the wolf howls again just then. Castiel glances into the wood then back at Sam and squints, frowning slightly.

“That’s for Dean to explain, I think,” Castiel says slowly. “If he hasn’t told you-”

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs. 

“Is this the ‘unbelievable’ thing he mentioned yesterday?”

Castiel half smiles. 

“Most likely.”

Sam considers how he might convince this stranger to simply tell him. While he’s deciding between “pretty please” and “fuck Dean, just tell me”, Castiel fetches another bit of firewood and tosses it in.

Out of the blue, Castiel says, “You’re travelling with Dean.”

“Yes.” They’d covered this, he thought.

“Why? You were to be apprenticed somewhere. Learning a real trade of some sort. Dean was proud, said you were going to make something of yourself. But you look like you stepped out of a peasant’s hut to tend the dung heap.”

Sam snorts a laugh. 

“Yeah, I was. That future burned to the ground a year ago.” He sombers, but he’s not interested in talking or even thinking about Jess right now. “Then I had a run in with the Aquilan army, and joined forces with Dean to get away from them.” 

Sam glances at the charger, peacefully standing next to Impala and notices something that isn’t there. “Where’s your horse anway?”

“I didn’t ride here.”

“Oh.”

They lapse into silence again, and Sam starts to feel sleep creeping up on him again.

“So what’s with the wolf? It killed a man then went off with you like a puppy.”

Castiel huffs, amused, and looks down. 

“I suppose you could say he and I are...bonded. We travel together, as much as we are able to.”

“Ah. Last night I almost thought it was some sort of magic,” Sam admits, then chuckles. Ridiculous. Things are odd here, yes, but not that odd.

Castiel gets that squinty expression again, head tilting. 

“Would you believe it if I said yes?”

Sam’s eyebrows go up. 

“I was joking.”

Castiel nods, expression smoothing. 

“Then let’s just say that… that he took a liking to me, and we’ve been together ever since.”

“That’s exactly what Dean said about his hawk.” 

That half smile again. 

“It’s a very… apt comparison.”

Sam starts to ask something else when a yawn interrupts him.

Castiel looks at him. 

“You should go back to sleep,” he says. 

Sam shakes his head, but he yawns again. He moves to his bedroll and lays down. 

“You’ll have to tell me that long story of yours later.”

“Perhaps. Good night, Sam.”

“Good night.”

“Sam?”

“Mhm?”

“When you see Dean tomorrow...tell him...tell him I said hello.”


	3. A Tragic Tale

Sam wakes in the morning to find Dean snoring on the other side of the fire. Sam stretches and goes to answer the call of nature, then returns looking for food. He finds some strips of meat and sets them aside, taking one to chew on for a breakfast of sorts.

The hawk comes back while he does this, perching in a nearby tree. It tilts its head and makes a high pitched noise at him.

“Morning to you too,” Sam says to it. “I don’t suppose you know what the hell is going on around here?”

The bird tilts its head the opposite way and makes another shrill chirp.

“Yeah, ‘course you do. But you can’t tell me, can you.”

The hawk chirps again.

“What are you whispering about?” Dean mutters groggily.

“Trading tips on hair and feather upkeep,” Sam says loudly. “You could use a few lessons.”

Dean glares at him and slumps back down. 

“Shut up bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“I’ll cut your hair off tomorrow, just you watch,” Dean mutters.

Sam gives him a dry “fuck you” look. 

“Not if you want my help you won’t.”

Dean opens his eyes at that. 

“You’ll help me?”

Sam hesitates. 

“I’m...considering it.”

“Awesome.” Dean looks like he’s going to say something, but decides not to.

They get back on the road, still wandering nowhere in particular. Sam wonders at that, until they reach a crossroads and Dean picks the path that takes them perpendicular to their former course, as if to continue circling Aquila.

Sam considers, then asks, “Does the name Castiel mean anything to you?”

Dean turns his head sharply to look at Sam. His grip on Impala’s reigns tightens enough that she starts to slow down, but then he loosens and they continue trotting onwards.

“You saw him again? Did he talk to you?”

Sam raises his eyebrows slightly at the eagerness in his tone. Interesting.

“Yes, we talked a bit.” Sam decides not to mention getting bested by the man. “He says hello, by the way.”

For just a moment, Dean’ entire face lights up. He doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes, looks away, a smile clearly tugging at his lips. 

“You see him again, tell him I say hey.”

Sam eyes his brother, tests him. 

“Maybe you should just stick around camp tonight, maybe you can tell him yourself.”

Dean’s expression turns grim, for just a second. 

“That’s...unlikely.”

“Why not?”

Dean doesn’t answer. They travel a little longer, and Sam changes tack.

“So who is he?”

“Cas is...he’s a friend.” Dean turns his head back towards the road as he says this, and Sam doesn’t miss the hesitation. More oddness. “We both had units in Michael’s army. Fought together.”

So that part matches up at least. 

“He a deserter like you?”

“I didn’t desert, I escaped,” Dean corrects. “Michael wanted me to-” he shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Yes, Cas came with me. Then Michael showed up again and things went to hell.”

“How?”

Dean is silent for a long moment. 

Finally he says, “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“You said that before.” Sam crosses his arms. “Shouldn’t I decide that?”

Dean hesitates, indecision on his face. Sam presses his advantage. 

“I know you Dean, and something’s not right with you. And then there’s Castiel and this revenge mission of yours. Just tell me, because what I’m thinking right now is already pretty unbelievable.”

The horses walk a few more paces before Dean sighs. 

“It’s a long story.”

“Then you’d better start talking. I’ve got nothing better to do right now.”

Dean snorts, but he starts, “Told you how I joined up, right? Well, every Thursday, the general has a meeting with all the captains and commanders in camp. Most of them were straight up dicks, Zachariah isn’t even the worst of them, but he’s damn close to it. Cas was-”

He stops, pulling on the reins. Impala stops trotting. Sam sees the camp ahead at the same time and stops his mount. 

“Aquilan soldiers,” Dean mutters. “Just what we need.”

“We should turn around,” Sam says.

Dean nods and they start, but it's too late. There’s a shout from the direction of the camp, and several men come running or riding towards them.

“Fuck,” Dean swears. He yanks the crossbow up and readies it.

“It’s Winchester!” they hear one shout, and Dean swears again. He aims the crossbow, then rethinks it.

“Here,” he says, handing it to Sam, followed by the quiver of bolts. “Cover me.”

Sam nods, taking both and slinging the quiver over his back. Dean rides towards the men, ducking as one of them lets off a shot. Sam aims for that man first and hits him in the side. Not a kill shot, but enough to put him out of the fight. He slides in the next bolt.

Dean meets one of the men on horseback and they battle, swords clashing, horses prancing.

From above, the hawk shrieks and dives to harry a man taking aim at Dean. Sam has to pick a new target, and finds one, coming around from the side of the tents with a group of them. His shot goes true this time, and the men nearby race towards them, taking their moment while he’s forced to reload. Then Sam has to duck, and spur Charger to move as he’s now made a target of himself. The shot aimed at him passes close enough he feels the air from it. 

Dean kills his opponent, and has two more to deal with. He dismounts and meets them on foot.

It’s just those two and three crossbow men left from the camp. Two of the archers are taking turns aiming, not for Dean but Sam now. The third crossbowman is still attempting to ward off the sharp beak and talons of the bird, crossbow forgotten at his feet.

The hawk swoops up, shrieking yet again, its victim bleeding from the face. The bleeding man shouts curses and yells something to his compatriots, telling them to shoot the cursed thing.

Dean hears that and shouts, “No!” fighting his two opponents with renewed vigor. One of the crossbow men changes his aim.

Sam dismounts his horse, to make a less appealing target, just as one of the archers takes his companions' request and changes targets.

The shot flies true.

The arrow hits.

High above them, the hawk screeches and plummets towards the earth.

“No!” Dean shouts again, desperate, and with a quick thrust and slash, he dispatches his opponents and runs for the hawk.

While he runs, the other archer takes aim for him and wings him in the shoulder. By then Sam has reloaded and he shoots that man, another non fatal shot, but it takes him down. He reloads, another bolt streaking for him that he ducks as he fumbles the bolt into the slot. He gets it up, aims, and gets that man. The one wounded by the hawk runs for it and Sam lets him go, running instead for Dean and the hawk.

Dean kneels by the hawk, muttering soothing words to it. He reaches for the bird, then thinks better, and just kneels there.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine,” he says, over and over. He doesn’t look at Sam but orders, “Get me a cloth or something.”

Sam immediately obeys, running to Impala and grabs the first cloth that comes to his hands. He runs back and hands Dean a tunic. Dean takes it and carefully picks up the hawk and wraps it.

“Easy there, it’s okay,” he soothes. “You’re going to be fine.

Sam gets a look at the bird’s wound. The arrow has gone through part of its wing. 

“Dean-”

Dean stands and turns, and thrusts the bundled bird at Sam.

“Take him.”

“What?”

“Take him. Get help.”

Sam automatically accepts the bird, but he shakes his head. 

“There’s not much point. I’m sorry Dean,” he says. “It’s done for.”

Dean’s head snaps up and glares at him. 

“Don’t say that,” he snarls.

Sam is taken aback by the fierceness of his voice. It’s just a bird he thinks, and then thinks... _no, it’s not, is it?_ He’s still not sure _what_ it is, but it’s not a normal bird.

“Fine.”

Dean nods. 

“Back up the road, then left at the fork. There’s a cottage in the hills there, not far from the woods. Bobby lives there now, he’ll know what to do. Take Impala, she’s faster.”

“Bobby-Dean, you’re wounded, at least let me-”

“Just go,” Dean grits out. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a flesh wound, my chainmail took most of it. Go, Sam.”

“But-”

“Sam I swear to god if you don’t go right now-if that hawk dies-brother or no, I will hunt you down and make you regret every second you wasted.”

Sam stares at Dean, then down at the hawk. Swallowing, he nods finally. Dean sags with relief.

Sam mounts Impala, with some difficulty, then urges the black mare onward, as fast as he dares with his fragile burden in his lap.

He looks back once, to see Dean standing where he’d left him, a silhouette against the late afternoon sun, watching them go.

The ride is tense for Sam, but the distance is not as much as he expected. There’s still a sliver of light on the horizon when he reaches the cottage. 

“Almost there,” he tells the hawk. The bird makes a shrill chirp, as it’s been doing every time it gets jostled.

Sam rides almost directly up to the door and slides off the black mare, hawk carefully cradled in one arm. He bangs on the door.

“I’m coming,” a familiar gruff voice shouts. “Hold your damn horses.” The door is wrenched open by a familiar grizzled face. Bobby stares at him. “Sam?”

“Hey Bobby,” Sam says. He holds out the bird. “Got an injured bird here for you. Dean said you could help?”

“Near a decade without seeing you, nearly six months without seeing him, and you show up now?” Bobby says. “Dunno if that’s a good omen or a bad one.”

Bobby takes the hawk and peels open the blanket a bit. The hawk shrills and Bobby’s eyes widen at the sight of the arrow.

“Well don’t just stand there,” he says, turning away, leaving the door open. “Get in here.”

Sam obliges and Bobby leads him to a room, handing the bird back to Sam.

“Stick him on the cot,” Bobby says, and turns to rummage in a cabinet. “Then go get me some water from the well out back and put it on to boil.”

Sam obeys, heading out the door. Bobby speaks behind him. 

“Good to see you again, boy.”

Sam smiles. “You too, Bobby.”

The sun sets as Sam obeys Bobby’s instructions. Heaving the bucket inside, he pours it into the kettle and hangs it over the fire to heat. He goes to the spare room, to tell Bobby. He stops in the doorway, dumbfounded.

There on the cot, in place of the hawk, is Castiel, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. His eyes are closed and his teeth gritted as Bobby dabs some sort of black paste around the wound.

Sam stares. He looks around, but the pieces have already fallen into place. All of the strangeness of the past few days. Why Castiel only shows up at night, why Sam, now that he thinks about it, has never seen the hawk at night.

“You-you’re the hawk,” he says, barely believing the words even as he says them.

Castiel opens his eyes, and smiles weakly at Sam. 

“Hello Sam,” he says. 

Bobby turns and glares at Sam. 

“Did you get the water?”

Sam nods, still staring at Castiel.

“Yes. It's on the fire. How are you the hawk?” The wolf howls outside and another piece falls into place. “That wolf-it’s him, isn’t it? Somehow, it’s him. Just like-” Sam stops, thoughts racing, falling over each other. 

Castiel nods wearily. 

“Yes.”

“How?” Sam asks again.

“Later,” Bobby growls. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got an injured man here, so either make yourself useful or get out.”

“Sorry Bobby,” Sam says, chastised, and heads out to watch the water. When it finishes boiling, he takes the kettle to Bobby. 

Castiel slumps back onto the bed, clearly exhausted. Bobby finishes his wrapping and stands up with a grunt. He looks at Sam and gestures to him to follow. “Let him rest a bit,” Bobby says quietly. “You should try to get some sleep as well. We’ll talk later.”

Sometime after midnight, Sam joins Bobby by the fireplace. Bobby offers him the flagon of ale and Sam accepts it. 

“I’m guessing you have questions,” Bobby grunts.

Sam nods. 

“A few.” He’d been running through the list of them in his head for the past two hours, unable to sleep. “What happened? What on earth did they do to get cursed like that? And- _how?_ ”

Bobby sighs. 

“About a year or two after you left, Dean took on some mercenary work for the Aquilan army. The usual stuff, basic missions they didn’t want to risk their own troops on, or couldn’t. At some point the general noticed him and took a liking to him. He took an official commission with the army, eventually rose to the rank of Captain. One of Michael’s pets.

“Cas was already working for the army. Commanded a unit of his own. Some distant relation of the general, but not close enough to warrant any special privilege. He and Dean met. You want to see either of them light up, ask about those days. They didn’t immediately get along, but after a while…”

Bobby sips his ale, considering his next words carefully. 

“They became friends...and, eventually, lovers.”

He eyes Sam, gauging his reaction. 

The only sound for the next minute is the crackle of the fire as Sam processes this. It...fits. It’s the last fragment of the mystery he’s been traveling with the past two days. 

“They do have that look, when the other is mentioned,” he says slowly. “I think I would have guessed eventually.” Sam looks at Bobby. “Go on, I won’t interrupt.”

Bobby nods, then continues. 

“They kept it secret, naturally. You can imagine how folks would have reacted. Still, rumours get out. And eventually, Michael had a mission for Dean. Dean refused and-”

Sam interrupts, “Cas told me this part. What about the curse?”

Bobby glares at the interruption, but after a moment and another swig of ale he continues. 

“The two were on the run from Michael, but the general has a long reach. They were found, and Michael himself confronted them. He had learned of their relationship, through camp gossip no doubt. He was incensed by it, but he still offered them one last chance to come back. Not as they were, but if Dean took the mission, and Castiel took some light punishment, he would reinstate them both, but in separate postings, far away from each other. They refused.”

“He’d expected that of course. Declared that if they would not be his loyal servants, he would make sure their loyalty was justly repaid. Then he called down wrath upon them and cursed them. You know how that turned out. During the day, Cas is a hawk, and at night Dean’s that wolf you hear out there. Poor, dumb creatures, no memory of their human life. Unable to meet, but for a split second at sunrise and sunset, when they could almost touch.” 

Bobby shakes his head, staring at the fire. He picks up a stick from the hearth and tosses it in.

Sam stares at him, wide-eyed. 

“Always together, eternally apart.”

Bobby nods, then sighs. 

“A few days after they were cursed, Dean showed up at my door, a hawk on his arm, and begged me for help. You can imagine my surprise, when just before sunset he bolted out the door, and I saw him transform into a wolf, turned to find the hawk had become a man.” Bobby shakes his head. “In all my days I had never heard of such a thing.”

Bobby rises and lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m truly sorry you got involved with this. But I fear you may be trapped in this tragic tale with the rest of us.” He leaves, walking outside.

Sam sits there, quiet, stunned by this tale. He gets up and walks to the window, wrapping his head around that level of cruelty. Around the idea that magic was real, not just stories. He has always thought there might be something, whether God as the church held, or spirits as the pagans did. But to be confronted with it, in such a way...

Outside the wolf howls, and Sam shivers.

Sam cracks open the door to the spare room. Castiel is leaning against the wall, eyes cast out the window, a quill in his hand and a sheet of paper resting on a book propped in his lap. He glances at the door when he hears the door creak open, acknowledges Sam with a nod before returning his gaze to the woods outside.

“You should be careful,” Sam says, edging inside the room. “You might reopen the wound.”

“Bobby knows his business,” Castiel says. “I’ll be fine.”

Sam sits down on a chair placed against the wall and looks at the man across from him with new eyes. 

“So. You and Dean.”

Castiel turns his head to look at Sam. 

“Bobby told you.”

“Yes.”

Castiel nods, his expression reserved and wary. 

“Is that an issue for you?” he asks.

Sam shakes his head. 

“I’m surprised, but, no.” He half smiles. “You should see Dean when he talks about you. His entire face lights up. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Castiel smiles, his own face lighting up, but the expression doesn’t last long. 

“I miss him,” he says. 

“He misses you.”

“He said that?”

“No, but it’s clear as...well, day.” Sam grimaces at his word choice.

Castiel half smiles. 

“I’ll have to take your word on that.” He pauses a moment, then asks, “How is Dean? There was a fight, wasn’t there? Is he-”

“He’s fine,” Sam says. He doesn’t think it would help if he mentioned Dean’s own wound. “He fought well.” Sam hesitates. “You don’t remember anything?”

Castiel sinks back at the reassurance of Dean’s safety. 

“No. I remember...flashes, sometimes, of flight, other images, scents, sensations. Things that make no sense.” He shrugs, then winces. “They aren’t human memories, more like...dreams.”

“I’m sorry.”

Castiel makes as if to shrug again then remembers himself. 

“You need not be. You had nothing to do with this.”

“Even so…”

Castiel looks out the window, apparently done talking. 

“When you see him tomorrow...tell him…” Castiel pauses. “Tell him I love him.”

Sam nods. 

“I will,” he promises. He slips out of the room.

Dean stumbles out of the woods the next morning, exhausted and sore. He finds his clothes strewn not far from the edge of the treeline and dresses. He'd barely been coherent yesterday, and now his thoughts are eaten up with worry. He hopes Sam got to Bobby in time. He hopes Bobby was able to heal Cas. He fears-

He stops himself, instead focusing on what he can see not too far away.

"Hey there, boy," he says, approaching the stolen charger. "Fancy meeting you here."

The horse sniffs at him and rolls his eyes, but doesn't prance away. 

"Guess you can still smell wolf on me huh. Well, you don't have to worry about that ‘till nightfall."

He soothes the horse, then mounts it, and turns it towards the road. He goes at a trot, resisting the urge to canter. it makes no difference if he reaches the house in one hour or two. 

When he crests the hill that overlooks that house and hears a scree-ing from above. Dean looks up, his heart leaping in his chest. He reigns in the horse, and tilts his head towards the sky, shading his eyes. He grins broadly, in joy and relief.

Dean calls to the hawk and raises his arm. The bird comes swooping in and lands. 

"Hey there," Dean says, grinning, and raises a finger to stroke the bird's head. Cas-hawk bites at him. "Hey!' he exclaims, snatching his hand away. "Is that any way to greet your master?” The hawk makes a bird noise that means nothing, but makes Dean laugh anyway. "I'm glad you're okay, buddy."

With his lover-turned-hawk perched on his arm, he encourages the horse onwards once more. He needs to thank Bobby, and, he suspects, answer some questions from Sam.

It’s mid morning when Dean shows up at the house on the stolen charger, hawk perched on his arm. 

Sam watches him approach from his spot on Bobby’s porch. He’d been enjoying the morning air. Dean looks tired, but after the past few days, Sam guesses that’s normal. He seems cheerful enough though.

Dean halts the horse in front of the house and shakes his arm, sending the hawk into flight.

In lieu of a greeting Sam says, “Arf, arf.” 

Dean scowls as he dismounts. “That’s not funny.”

Sam grins. 

“It is a little bit.”

Dean growls, and Sam’s grin grows wider.

“Oh shut up,” Dean says, annoyed. His expression changes, becoming guarded. “So. You know then.” Sam nods. “Bobby told you?”

Sam nods. 

“Were _you_ ever going to tell me?”

Dean shrugs. 

“Only if I had to.”

Sam stands, and stops Dean at the threshold. 

“I don’t care,” he says. “If that’s what you were afraid of.”

Dean swallows, his guarded expression falling away for just a moment, and nods. 

“Good. It wouldn’t change anything if you did but...good.”

The door opens and Bobby stands there, arms crossed. 

“About time you showed up, boy.”

“Good to see you too old man,” Dean says, his face slipping into a warm grin. He embraces Bobby, a quick thing, but Bobby’s expression softens. “I owe you thanks, I think.”

Bobby grunts. 

“That and a barrel of mead. Since when did ‘I’ll be back in a few days’ become six months?”

Dean looks abashed. 

“Stuff happened.”

“Hmph.” Bobby turns and leads them inside. They sit by the fire. “It’s just as well you finally showed up. I may have found the solution.”

Dean snorts. 

“You’ve been drinking too much again. You’ve said that a dozen times, and it’s never true.” He starts to turn away. “No more of your false hopes, old man. Save them for someone more gullible.”

Bobby grabs his shoulder and stops him, glaring. 

“Just shut up and listen.” When satisfied Dean won’t interrupt, he says, “I tracked down a witch, a couple months back. She-”

“A witch? You’ve gone mad, old man, if you think a witch is going to help.”

Bobby glares at Dean. 

“I thought I told you to shut up, boy.” Dean subsides but he looks irritated and stubborn. “She had a book that described your curse, and the way to break it. All you need to do is stand in front of Michael, you and Cas together, as humans, and the curse will be lifted.”

Dean laughs bitterly. 

“That’s impossible.”

“As long as there is night and day, yes. The exact phrasing was ‘The cursed must stand before the caster, on a day without night and a night without day.’ And in three days time, there will be such a day.”

Dean snorts again. 

“That’s nonsense.”

Bobby shakes his head. 

“No it ain’t. There’s records of something like that happening before, when the sun-”

Dean shakes his head and stands up. 

“I’m leaving. Thank you for saving Cas, Bobby, and for your help Sam.”

“Dean-”

Dean ignores this and walks out of the house, the door crashing behind him. 

Bobby sighs. 

“Idjit.”

Sam eyes Dean, then asks, “You really think this will work?”

Bobby nods. 

“I do. We just have to convince that idjit not to kill Michael.”

Sam nods. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” He gets up and follows Dean outside.

Dean is saddling Impala, while the hawk looks on from the fence post.

“Heading back to Aquila then?” Sam asks.

“Yes.”

Sam scratches his forehead, saying, “Well...It just so happens that I’m headed in that general direction myself.”

Dean looks at him, eyebrows raised. 

“Really?”

Sam nods. Dean considers for a moment. 

“What the hell. Grab your stuff then, I’m leaving.”

Sam nods and walks back into the house.

“Well?” Bobby asks.

“I’m going with him. You follow behind us.”

Bobby nods. 

“Hopefully you’ll have better luck talking sense into him.”


	4. Hunters and Their Prey

“How’s your shoulder?” Sam asks, breaking the long silence. They’ve been riding for an hour, not a word spoken between them.

“It’s fine.”

They return to their silent riding. 

After some minutes Dean says, gruffly, “Thanks. I owe you.”

“For what?”

“Getting him to Bobby in time.”

Sam wants to say no, he doesn’t, but then he has a thought. 

“You want to repay it? Give Bobby’s plan a chance. If he’s right, if you and Cas could appear before the general together as men-”

Dean stops Impala. 

“Drop it, Sam,” he says, voice a low growl. “And don’t you dare mention this to Cas.”

Sam pulls Charger to a stop and looks at Dean. 

“Why not? Shouldn’t he know there’s a way to break this curse?”

Dean glares. 

“We spent that first year following every damn lead, trying every damn idea any of us had, the smallest hope from one of Bobby’s books. Not a single one did anything. Michael told us himself when he laid it on us, it’s unbreakable. The only hope we have, the only one he allowed us, is that if one of us beg, and I mean _beg_ , hands and knees in front of him, he’ll take that one’s part of the curse and put it on the other. One human, one animal, no more changing for either.”

Dean turns away from Sam. He taps his heels against Impala’s sides and she starts moving again. “That’s the only way this can end, one of us betraying the other for the sake of a fully human life. I won’t do that to Cas.”

“But Bobby’s plan-”

“Is just another false hope, and a nonsense one at that. ‘A day without night?’ Impossible.”

“That’s what I would have said about men turning into hawks and wolves five days ago.”

Dean snorts. Sam looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Cas had a message for you, by the way.”

Dean’s sullen expression lightens. He glances quickly at Sam, then away.

“What did he say?”

“That he loves you. That he has hope, faith, in you.”

A soft smile tugs at Dean’s face. Sam is looking for his reaction, and catches it before Dean ducks his head to hide it. Sam has to hide his own grin, focusing on steering his mount down this stretch of road.

The hawk shrieks high above, then again, warning them of its approach. Dean raises his arm up and it lands. It fluffs its wings out before settling. Impala trots onward.

“Do you ever remember anything?” Sam asks, curious.

Dean shakes his head. 

“Nothing. It’s a blank. One minute I’m me, then I’m becoming...not me, then I’m back. I remember parts of the change, that’s it.”

“Ah.” Sam considers, looking at the hawk, perched placidly on Dean’s arm. That is somehow also Cas but not. “You know each other though, even as animals. I saw that wolf-you-tear a man’s throat out and then go happily wandering off with Cas not two minutes later.”

Dean glances at him, then the hawk. He’s silent. 

“Bobby has a theory about that. It’s silly but...wolves and hawks-they mate for life. Maybe that’s what we sense. Or maybe it’s just the curse, the magic binding us. I dunno. Doesn’t matter though.”

“I suppose not. It’s just interesting is all.”

Dean laughs. 

“Yeah, it’s definitely...interesting.”

The wind picks up, blowing colder, chapping their faces. Dean glances up at the white sky, where thick clouds gather, heralding a winter storm. 

“It’s going to be a big one," Sam comments, following his gaze. As if in agreement, the wind gusts fiercer, bringing with it an icy chill.

Dean nods. They ride a little further until snowflakes begin to fall. Dean grimaces, and pulls them to a stop.

“Here,” Dean says, pulling up to Sam. He extends the arm with the hawk on it. “Take him, find shelter.” 

Dean carefully nudges the hawk, encouraging the hawk to change its perch from him to Sam. Sam holds very still as the hawk settles on him. Sam looks at the hawk, then at Dean

“Are you sure?”

Dean nods as he dismounts. 

“The sun is going down.”

Sam looks up once more, but the overcast sky prevents him from getting a good read on the sun’s position. 

“How can you tell?”

Dean laughs. “After so many sunsets?”

He hands Impala’s reins off to Sam, who takes them, though not without some difficulty, since he needs to hold them with the same hand as the arm the hawk is on. The hawk protests the jostling of its perch, flapping its wings, ready to take off if it must, but determined to stay where it is. Impala snorts and shakes her head when the wings hit her, but she stays still otherwise.

Dean laughs faintly, as he tucks his outer jacket into a saddlebag, then fondly pats Impala’s neck.

“Goodnight Sam. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you tomorrow,” Sam says.

Dean’s gaze falls on the hawk briefly, and his expression goes soft. 

“Tell him... tell him I miss him,” he says.

Sam sees in Dean’s eyes the real meaning, the words he wants to say but won’t, not to Sam. Sam nods, though.

“I will.” Sam taps his heels against Charger’s side and rides off.

Not far down the road, there’s a small village, little more than a small collection of houses, but among them is a tavern with stables and a barn. Sam hesitates, but as the first drops of rain begin to fall, he makes his decision and rides towards the tavern.

A few minutes later, after a conversation with the tavern owner and parting with the majority of his purse, Sam leads the horses into a small barn behind the tavern. He chivvies the hawk onto a post and takes care of stabling the horses.

His work done, he leans against the wall and stares at the hawk. 

“So,” he says to it. “You hungry?” 

The hawk looks at him, impassive. 

Sam scoffs quietly. 

“Right.” 

He looks down, kicks at the straw littering the floor. It’s cold in the barn and his clothes are damp from the rain outside. He shivers. 

“Can’t believe I’m involved with this,” he mutters. “Magic, curses? Doesn’t seem real.” He glances at the hawk again.

The hawk suddenly shivers, and it partially opens its wings. Sam starts, watching as it stretches its wings. Something seems to be happening to the bird, and there’s an odd quality to the air around it.

Sam wants to stay and see but at the same time, he’s not sure he should. He quickly turns his back, and catching sight of the horses, he has a thought.

He goes to Impala’s saddlebags and opens them, rummaging until he finds a shirt and a pair of trousers. There’s a creak of wood behind him and he turns to find Castiel standing by the low wall. He’s completely nude as he looks around the barn, orienting himself. 

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says, and holds the clothes out. 

Castiel turns to look at him. 

“Hello Sam,” he rumbles, accepting the clothes. “Thank you.”

Sam turns to give Cas privacy as he dresses.

“Where are we?” Cas asks from behind him.

Sam shrugs. 

“Some no-name town off the main road. This place belongs to the tavern.”

Cas nods. “How is Dean?”

“He’s good. He wanted me to pass on a message: he loves you.”

A soft expression spreads over Cas’s face, and he looks down briefly as if to hide the smile.

“He also instructed me to take care of you.”

“You’re to be my protector, are you?” Faint amusement crinkles the lines around Cas’s eyes. “Well, you are a formidable fighter, if a little out of practice.”

Sam grins. “I may have failed to mention to Dean that you kicked my ass a few days ago. Still, if you’ll allow me, I’ll take care of you another way.”

Cas raises his eyebrows. 

“How so?”

“How long has it been since you spent a night with good food, good wine, and good company?” 

Cas’s expression flickers rapidly between confusion, surprise, nervousness, before settling on something like longing.

“Years,” he says quietly. “It’s been years.”

Sam nods and walks towards Cas and the door. 

“I thought so. Let’s remedy that, shall we? The tavern awaits.” He opens the door to pouring rain. “We might want to run,” he says after a short pause.

Cas huffs, a soft laugh. He goes to the saddlebags and pulls out a cloak and his dagger, donning one and slipping the other into his pocket before he joins Sam. They rush through the rain to the tavern door. 

Once inside, Sam tells Cas to find a spot while he goes to order food and beer from their host.

Castiel looks around and sets himself at a table against the wall, where he can see the whole room. 

Once settled, he stares around the room, fascinated and yet feeling strangely cut off. Castiel hasn’t been near this many people since before the curse. He feels odd, exposed. Alone in a sea of strangers.

As if watching a play, Castiel watches the room around him, attention flicking between tables. A group of farmers sit together drinking and laughing uproariously. In another corner two men play at dice while others look on. At another table, two women sit talking with a man in a cloak. A woman walks busily between tables, delivering food and drink and collecting used dishes. At the bar, Sam is chatting comfortably with the barkeep.

If he concentrates he can pick out bits of conversation, but there’s so much going on that he has trouble following a thread before it gets overwhelmed by the buzz of so many conversations. Castiel breathes carefully, closing his eyes for just a second to deal with the sheer amount of information.

He’s out of practice with crowds, and he’d never been good with ones like this. He’d be more comfortable being asked to fight a battalion singlehanded. Castiel has been in far, far busier taverns than this, but that was before. Before three years spent living in the woods alone, with only infrequent trips to Bobby’s providing him with any relief from the solitude. Dean had never camped them near civilization, but then, there was a good reason for that.

While his eyes are closed, someone drops a mug and it clatters loudly. Castiel starts, hand flying to his dagger. He has it half drawn before his brain catches up. He winces at his overreaction, sliding it back into the sheath and settles back into his seat, alert for any change that might actually be a threat.

Sam joins him in a moment with two mugs of beer in his hands. He slides one to Castiel. 

“They’ve got stew too, and we’ll get that in a few minutes once the barmaid can get to us.”

Castiel nods and sips the beer. Sam watches him, and before he can ask whatever it is he’s got on his mind, Castiel speaks. 

“He’s taking us back to Aquila, isn’t he?”

"Yes."

"He's going to kill the general.”

"Yes." Sam hesitates, as if wanting to say more.

Castiel tilts his head. 

"What is it?"

Sam shakes his head. 

"Nothing."

Castiel frowns. 

"There's something else."

Sam smiles, shakes his head again. 

“It’s not important.” He changes the subject. “Nice place isn’t it?”

Castiel wants to press Sam, but decides not to. 

“Yes,” he says. “It’s very pleasant.”

Their stew arrives, and they eat. 

Castiel regards Sam over the bowl. He wasn’t quite what Cas had expected of Dean’s brother, from what little Dean had told him before and the stories Bobby had told of when “his boys’’ had been of young children, not men. 

“What’s your story? You didn’t trust me enough to tell me before, I think.”

Sam hesitates a moment, then, quietly, he tells Castiel of his own loss. The fire, the girl. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, lacking anything better.

“I suppose you know what that feels like, a bit,” Sam says, with a lopsided smile. “Now I’m...I dunno. Looking for something else. Wasn’t anything left for me back there. Thought I would get a fresh start somewhere out east.”

“I wish you luck with that.”

“Thanks.” Sam finishes the last of his stew. “I definitely wasn’t expecting to run into any family here, though. Hell, I didn’t even know Bobby had moved.”

“It’s easy to lose contact when you never see your family.”

“Do you have any? Bobby mentioned Michael was your cousin or something.”

Castiel’s taste buds sour, and he puts down the bowl. 

“Very distantly. It barely counts.”

“What about your parents? Siblings?”

Castiel shakes his head. 

“My parents died a few years after I took my commission. And I was never on particularly good terms with my siblings. I’m sure they all think I'm dead.”

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Castiel shrugs. He’d long since lost concern for them. The army had become his family, or close enough for him. Then there had been Dean, and then Bobby. Perhaps Sam now as well. He isn’t sure about that last one, how long Sam will choose to stick around.

Sam looks around for another subject. While looking for it, he notes that both their mugs are getting very close to empty and goes off to get a refill of drinks for each. While he waits, it occurs that if they’re sharing pasts, there’s a very important part he hasn’t heard yet.

“So how the hell did you two end up together? I didn’t even know Dean had a type that wasn’t blonde and buxom. Or brunette and-well. Girl-shaped.”

Castiel’s expression lightens, and he laughs a little. 

“For a very long time, I thought the same. I was...pleased when that wasn’t the case. Surprised, but…” Castiel trails off, and looks a little distant, fondness in his eyes. “He thought I hated him at first. He was a good fighter and his men loved him, but he took so many risks...but that was part of his value to the general, why _he_ liked him.”

“Did you hate him?”

“Never. He was a fellow captain, and he was all those things I said. I wished him to be less reckless perhaps, but I liked him. And somehow we became friends.”

“Then more.”

“Yes.” Castiel smiles into his mug before he sips. “It was after his entire unit got captured and my unit took on the rescue mission. We-”

"Well, well, well," a voice says from behind him. "If it isn't Commander Castiel. I'd heard you'd died."

Castiel stiffens, his face going impassive. He turns around slowly. 

"Ishim."

“Good to see you.” His eyes flicker over to Sam. “And who’s this...large specimen? Got tired of Winchester already?

“This is his brother,” Castiel says shortly. 

“Oh? How…interesting.” Ishim addresses his next remark to Sam. “It's funny. When I knew him, Castiel here was the best of the best. A real soldier. And now...from the war table to a common tavern.”

“Are you just here to insult me, or was there another point to approaching us?” Cas asks.

“Can’t I do both?” Castiel glares. Ishim smirks. “Relax, Castiel, I’m just making conversation. Just curious about why two of Michael’s most loyal would suddenly desert. What’s the story there?”

“It’s a long story, and not one I particularly wish to share with you.” Castiel’s voice is flint.

Ishim nods. 

“Blunt as ever. Well, do give the former captain my regards. I have business to attend to anyway. Something you might be interested in actually. I know how much you used to enjoy hunting.”

“Good luck with that,” Castiel says, turning away. 

“Rumour has it,” Ishim drawls, “That there’s a rather interesting wolf running around these woods. Great big black beast, they say.”

Castiel tenses, his hands going white as he grips the table.

“Rumour has it, it killed a man a few days ago,” Ishim continues, seemingly oblivious to Castiel’s reaction. “I aim to catch it and put it’s head on my wall. Would be quite the prize, don’t you agree?”

Castiel’s expression has gone from polite impassivity to murderous. If a look could set things on fire, the tavern would be in flames already.

Sam quickly kicks Castiel under the table before he does anything rash. Castiel‘s fixed gaze ahead breaks, and he glares at Sam, the fire in his eyes barely dampened. Minutely, Sam shakes his head, willing the ex-soldier to calm, at least for the moment. Castiel remains tense for a few long seconds then relaxes, his mask of polite impassivity falling back into place. 

“Yes, quite,” Castiel grits out, his voice strained.

Ishim doesn’t seem to have noticed anything.

Sam says, “Well, good luck with your hunting.”

Ishim smiles, and it does not meet his eyes.

“I appreciate that. Well, Commander, it’s been a pleasure.”

Castiel jerks a nod. 

“Farewell.”

Ishim heads back to a small group of ladies. Castiel watches him go, eyes following every movement. His expression promises violence.

Sam watches Castiel, suddenly cold. This is a side of him Sam hadn’t yet seen, and it’s a bit terrifying.

“You okay?”

“No,” Castiel growls, eyes still focused on Ishim.

“You’re…not going to kill him in here, right?”

Castiel’s gaze flicks to Sam momentarily, then back to the wolf-hunter. 

“No.”

“Okay then.” Sam considers Cas. “There a story there?”

“Ishim was my commanding officer before I got a promotion. Not long after that, I took one that he wanted, and that outranked him. It left some bad blood between us. He and Dean…never got along.”

“Ah.”

Ishim remains in the tavern a little longer, before he calls over the barmaid and pays. He leaves, the women remaining behind. Castiel gets up the second Ishim exits the tavern. 

“Wait-” Sam says, but Castiel either doesn’t hear him or just ignores him. 

“Fuck,” Sam mutters, and gets up, going to the counter to pay up the bill so he can rush after Castiel.

In the dark of the woods, Castiel creeps, his dagger out, his footsteps as silent as the autumn debris will allow. He tracks Ishim, following the signs left by the wolf-hunter. 

Three years of living in the woods has given Castiel a light foot. He’s attuned to the nuances of forest life, and follows the silence as well as the subtle tracks left by Ishim. It’s slow going to follow the hunter, but while Ishim is good, he is not good enough.

As Castiel creeps along a deer path, he narrowly misses stepping into a trap, never even noticing his peril. A few steps later, he finds one of the other traps, kneels by it to examine the area. He looks up, searching the darkness for his quarry.

A trap snaps behind him and Castiel turns. Then another snaps, and another. Castiel turns his head at every one, searching, waiting. There’s a patter of feet, an animal, and he turns to see between the trees as a wolf runs past. 

“No!”

He runs after it and hears the trap snap and its pained cry. Heart pounding in his throat, Castiel reaches the place just in time to see Ishim step from the trees and put the wolf down, knife tearing across its throat.

For a horrible second, Castiel wants to fall to his knees, then the anger and rage returns. He stalks towards Ishim.

“Ishim.”

His voice is low, but in the stillness of the forest it carries. Ishim looks up.

“Castiel,” Ishim drawls. “Fancy seeing you again, and so soon.” He nods to his prize, as he forces the trap open, releasing the leg. “A fine prize, don’t you agree?”

“No,” Castiel says, closing the distance. 

Ishim nods, and in the dim moonlight, Castiel can just see the condescending sneer. 

“I suppose not. Michael said you had an odd attachment to the beast.”

“You know nothing,” Castiel growls. “You have no idea what you have done, do you?”.

As he steps around the wolf, something about it catches on his awareness. His gaze flickers for just a second, trying to pinpoint the anomaly. Ishim rises, and Castiel’s attention snaps back.

“This thing killed a man, and here you are, defending it.” Ishim laughs, a short-sharp sound. “You always did like to keep the worst company.” 

There’s the faintest hint of movement behind Ishim as he talks. Castiel keeps his gaze focused on the hunter, not wanting to give Sam’s silent approach away.

“I’m doing you a favor, Castiel. You used to be a real soldier, till that Winchester brat corrupted you. A commoner like him should never have been made captain. I mean, look at you. Look how far you’ve fallen. Keeping company with commoners and beasts.” Ishim shakes his head regretfully. “And to think I used to envy you.”

Castiel’s face tightens. “The only thing that’s corrupted is the army itself,” he says. Sam is almost directly behind Ishim, so Cas keeps talking. “Michael is an evil man, far worse than you could ever believe. If anyone does not deserve a command, it is he, not Dean.”

Two more steps, then Sam springs to grab and Castiel rushes forward, dagger raised and ready.

Ishim just manages to duck Sam’s attempted hold, but in doing so Castiel manages to get a swipe in, opening up a line of blood across Ishim’s arm. Ishim hisses a curse, and swipes with his own dagger. Castiel steps back to avoid it.

Sam pulls out his own knife. He and Castiel circle Ishim, who has to keep turning his head to keep them in view. He feints towards Sam, who dodges and raises his blade to defend himself, then Ishim goes for Castiel who blocks the blow with a clash of metal. They fight, a flurry of blades, and Sam joins in. Ishim is quick, and holds them both off, though he’s panting with effort.

“All this for a wolf?” Ishim says to Castiel. “Really?”

“Not for a wolf,” Castiel replies, closing to grapple Ishim. He _has_ him. 

There’s a sudden snarling, and all three men look up to see a black wolf standing at the clearing, fangs bared. The one in the trap is nowhere as big or as black as this wolf.

“Dean,” Castiel breathes in relief.

“Dean?” Ishim repeats, gaze going to Castiel. Too late, Castiel realizes his mistake. Ishim uses the distraction and has Castiel by the throat in seconds. and punches him repeatedly, stunning him.

“Pathetic,” Ishim spits into Castiel’s face. “Weak. You lost your edge, Castiel.”

Castiel meets his gaze readily.

Then Sam has a grip and holds Ishim fast. Ishim swears, and Castiel picks himself up as the other two wrestle, Ishim trying to get out of Sam’s expert hold.

“I can't hold him, Cas,” Sam says. “Hurry up.”

Castiel finds his dagger lying in the dirt and picks it up. He stalks towards the two, steel gaze on the wolf hunter.

Ishim sees his danger. He struggles harder and manages to get free of Sam, but he’s too late, and Castiel's dagger pierces his heart. The hunter stares at the blade then slumps and falls to the ground as Castiel yanks the dagger back out.

Castiel breathes heavily as he looks down at the corpse, then turns to search for the black wolf. He stands distant, hackles still raised, but no longer growling. Castiel watches the wolf and wolf-Dean watches him, until Sam moves. The wolf startles and runs off.

“You okay?” Sam asks, coming to stand beside Castiel.

Castiel nods, and closes his eyes for a moment. He looks at the dead wolf in the trap.

“Let’s go,” he says, the sight of the dead animal making him feel sick.

_He’d come so close to losing Dean for good._

Sam nods, and puts a hand on his shoulder briefly. Cas looks up at him, startled by the contact. 

They return to their horses, walking in subdued silence. Once their mounts are collected, they walk rather than ride, and look for a place to camp for the remainder of the night.

They find a clearing to set up in. Castiel sees to the horses, and Sam finds wood enough to get a fire started. He goes to get a few more sticks from the surrounding area and returns, setting his bounty to the side and joins Castiel in crouching by the fire.

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel says, feeding a few sticks into the fire. 

Sam snorts. 

“I barely did anything in that fight.”

“You held him long enough for me to kill him. But that’s not what I meant.” Castiel looks up from the fire. “Thank you for this night. Taking me to that tavern. For a good night and good company. It’s been years since I spent a night as pleasant as that, Ishim aside.”

“Good. You deserve happiness, you know. Both of you.” Sam hesitates, his mouth partially open as if about to say something then he changes his mind.

“What is it?”

Sam shakes his head, half-smiling. 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he promises.

Castiel wants to ask more, but he can feel the dawn approaching, itching at his skin. He nods instead.

“I’m glad to have met you, Sam.”

Sam smiles at him. 

“Likewise, Cas.” 

Castiel tilts his head to the sky just for a moment. The itch is stronger now, feathers prickling under his skin.

“Have a good day, Sam,” he says, rising. 

“See you tomorrow.”

Castiel walks into the woods, shucking his clothes off just as the light hits and the change takes him.


	5. On Ice

Sam wakes to the smell of roasting meat, and finds a very cheerful Dean poking at the fire.

"Morning sunshine," Dean says. "Good night?"

"Parts of it." 

Sam rises, yawning. He stretches, one arm raised to the side. He hears the call of the hawk, the whoosh of the hawk's wings just before a weight settles on his outstretched arm. Startled, Sam jerks in surprise. "What the-?"

The hawk is unconcerned by the movement, wings slightly open to adjust its balance as it surveys the clearing.

Sam turns to Dean, his own mouth open in shock and finds Dean staring at him with an almost comically offended look.

"What the hell did you do last night?" Dean says, his voice laced with incredulity.

Sam tries to shake off the hawk, encouraging it to go to Dean. The bird is singularly unimpressed at his efforts.

"We, uh, hung out at a tavern most of the night. Had a few drinks and talked." Sam shakes his arm again. "Oh come on! Go on, go to Dean, you silly bird, go to your master."

Dean brings his arm closer to Sam's, and together they get the hawk to change perches. Dean looks at the hawk. 

"Traitor," he tells it. Then he walks over and encourages it onto a perch he'd apparently fashioned whilst Sam slept. Dean looks at Sam with an odd expression. "You took him to a tavern?"

“Yes,” Sam says. “You did say find shelter. And I figured he might enjoy it.”

Dean nods slightly, glancing at the hawk briefly. His lips curl and his expression lightens as he turns his attention fully on Sam.

“Did he? What was it like? What did you talk about? Tell me everything.”

Dean has the air of a man parched in the desert, desperate for any drop of water, or in this case, word of his beloved. Sam had never imagined the Dean he’d known ever being half as in love as the one before him is.

“We had some ale, talked.” Sam debates briefly about mentioning the wolf hunter, then decides against it. No need to worry Dean. “He told me about how you met, how you thought he was a dick at first.”

Dean half laughs. 

“I did. Learned how wrong I was real quick. Did he say anything else?” Dean realizes his eagerness, and turns slightly pink. “Sorry, it’s just… every moment you get to spend with him...I envy you."

Sam pats Dean on the shoulder. 

“No, I get it. He misses you just as much, loves you more than anything.”

Dean looks at the hawk on it’s makeshift stand.

“Yeah,” he says, softly. Then he shakes off the sudden gloom. “So. Tell me, tell me everything.”

The noise of a horse and cart picks up from behind them prevents Sam from answering. He and Dean both turn to see Bobby emerging from the trees, his tired rust-colored horse coming to a stop.

Dean scowls and urges the hawk onto the perch he’d built of it. He glares at Bobby. 

“Stop following us.”

Bobby glares right back. 

“I’ll stop following you if you’ll stop being an idjit and follow me. We’ve got a real chance to break this curse of yours, boy.”

“It’s a fairytale,” Dean scoffs. “There’s no such thing.”

“Three years ago, you would have said magic of any kind was a fairytale,” Bobby shoots back. He sighs heavily. “Come on, Dean, you really want to live the rest of your life like this? You want Cas to live his that way?”

Dean straightens, his glare increasing. 

“I’ll get to Aquila tomorrow and General Bishop will meet his fate at the end of my sword, or I’ll meet mine at the end of his. Just leave it, Bobby.”

“What’s one more day?” Sam asks.

Dean turns to stare at him, his expression betrayed. 

“Not you too.”

Sam holds his gaze. 

“It’s just one day, Dean, what can it hurt? If Bobby’s witch friend is right, you and Cas get a chance to break the curse. If he’s wrong, you still get to kill the general. Where’s the harm?”

Dean throws up his hands. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” He points at Bobby. “I spent a year listening to your hopes and promises that ‘we’ll break it yet,’” he mimics Bobby’s gruff voice. “Nothing came of it but foolish hope and even worse despair. I’m done with your wild goose chases, old man.”

The barb hits its mark, and Bobby's face hardens. Dean turns and looks at Sam next.

“And you’re just as foolish as him, if you think some impossible thing like a ‘day without night’ or whatever is going to come true. Don’t use me and Cas as a way to make you feel better about your own tragedy.”

It’s almost a physical lash, the way the insult hits Sam, and he watches, slightly stunned as Dean turns away from them both and grabs his saddlebags and tosses them onto Impala, then mounts her. 

Dean looks at them again, expression hard. “Don’t follow me. I have enough enemies to deal with in front of me.”

“I thought you needed my help to get in,” Sam says pointedly.

Dean shrugs. 

“I will find my own way in.” He presses his heels to Impala’s sides and canters off.

Sam and Bobby watch him go. A moment later, the hawk flies after Dean, and they watch him go as well. 

“Thank you,” Bobby says, in that gruff voice that belies deeper emotions. “For trying.”

Sam sighs heavily. 

“Not that it did any good.”

Dean rides for several miles, barely noticing the increasing cold and the rolling of clouds that herald an approaching storm.

 _Idiots,_ he thinks, bitterly. _Hopeful fools._ He forces his mind away from his brother and foster father left back there in the camp, drives back the guilt of how he’d lashed out at them. He thinks instead of Michael, letting the rage inside him boil up and keep him warm.

A screech warns him, and he lifts his arm up, and a few moments later, the hawk lands on his arm. It shivers and makes a disgruntled peck at his hand, indicating his displeasure with the change in the weather.

Dean glances at the hawk, affectionate and sad. 

“You’d agree with me, right?” he asks the bird, bringing it as close as he dares to his chest. “That their plan won’t work? It’s impossible. Ridiculous.”

The hawk huddles close to him, to his warmth, and Dean aches. He tries to picture Cas as he was before, (as he must be at night, when Dean cannot see), all squinty-eyed and grumpy, lips pressed into a line or eyes bright and crinkled, lips quirked at the corners, his hair unruly as ever. 

“Like a bird’s nest,” he says aloud, amused by that description Sam had given, but his smile fades quickly. It’s been three years since Dean last saw Cas, and he’s beginning to forget what his lover even looked like. The only thing that remains unblurred by the time is the memory of his eyes, always so blue, always so intent on Dean.

Dean curses under his breath and urges Impala into a gallop. He wants to make as much time before sunset and the impending snowfall as he can. He tries to let the worries and anger fall behind him with Impala’s hoofbeats, and completely fails to do either.

Castiel leans against a tree, wrapped in both his cloak and Dean’s in an attempt to stay warm. He contemplates making the effort to build up the fire, but doesn’t move.

When he’d come to and found the camp, he’d been expecting to find Sam there, had been looking forward to talking to him again. But instead, there wasn’t even a sign that the younger Winchester had been near, only the firewood and camp set up as Dean always left it for him. Cas wonders what went wrong.

He’d started the fire, checked that Impala was groomed and fed, then sat down against the tree and worried.

When he hears the faintest crunch of snow, he stands and turns quickly, his dagger already in his hand. When he sees Sam approaching, he relaxes and sheathes it, then picks up Dean’s cloak where it had fallen as he stood.

“Is everything alright?” Castiel asks.

Sam shrugs both with his shoulders and his expression. 

“Yes and no. Dean won’t listen, but we’re hoping you will.”

Castiel tilts his head. 

“We?” He looks behind Sam to see the approach of Bobby on his cart.

“We’ve, well Bobby really, found something.” Sam looks at him, something like hope and desperation in his eyes. “A way to break the curse.”

Castiel’s stomach leaps at the idea, his heart at the sudden surge of hope. It’s been so long without it…

“I think it will work,” Sam says, oblivious to Castiel’s increased heart rate. “I’m positive.”

“Did you tell Dean?” Castiel asks.

Sam grimaces. 

“He doesn’t think it will work.”

Castiel nods, slightly. They’d had too many false leads before, of course Dean feels that way. Castiel is not as easily put off.

“Tell me.”

Some time later, the waning moon at its height finds Sam and Bobby digging a hole while Castiel, taking his turn at a break, scans the treeline for any sign of the black Dean-wolf.

They’ve left the forest a ways and found a hill that faces the west, and are digging a pit they hope will get the dawnlight slower than other ways. A lake nearby is still covered with ice

The idea was Cas’s. After laying out the details of how to break the curse and their plans, Sam and Bobby had admitted that the problem with executing it was simply this: Dean’s refusal to consider it.

Cas had thought for only a moment, before suggesting this plan. 

“I don’t know if it will work,” he had admitted, face drawn, though a desperate hope had shone in his eyes. “But I think, I _hope_ , it will work. Even if it’s only for a second. And I think it will convince him to try.”

They had agreed, and now Bobby and Sam dig while Cas takes his turn for a break and watches the surrounding landscape.

“Must you keep poking me in the liver?” Bobby demands after the fifth such jab from Sam’s elbows.

Sam looks at him, exasperated. “I’m not doing it on purpose!” He sighs. “This hole really isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

“Let’s hope we’ve made it big enough for the wolf,” Bobby mutters. 

Castiel turns from his vigil. 

“I can switch with you Bobby.”

“I’m fine,” Bobby snaps. “I’ve barely been in here five minutes.”

Castiel wants to protest, because it’s been at least thirty, but movement on the horizon catches his eye. He squints for a better view, to make sure.

“He’s coming.” Cas’s voice is quiet, tense.

Sam and Bobby look at each other and stop digging. Bobby grunts as he pulls himself out, with some less-than-flattering help from Sam. Sam pulls himself out next, and they both look across the ice of the lake to where the wolf trots towards them.

“Cover the trap then get back,” Castiel tells them, still quiet. He walks towards the lake. The wolf won’t hurt him, but Sam and Bobby may not be as safe. 

Behind them, they hurry to obey, covering the trap with the pine boughs dragged from the nearby woods.

Castiel whistles, low, and the black wolf looks up, towards the noise, then heads straight for him, tail wagging low in recognition.

Straight across the ice.

The wolf makes it halfway before Sam and Bobby finish their trap and go to hide behind the cart. They are only partially there, when the wolf is only ten feet out and the ice cracks beneath its paws. It scrabbles for purchase as the ice cracks further, then breaks entirely.

Castiel cries out as the wolf plunges into the lake, and he runs forward. He’s two steps onto the ice before sense catches him and he drops, crawling forward to help spread his weight. He can see the wolf thrashing in the water, hears the pitiful whimpers, noises that go straight to his already-battered heart.

Both Sam and Bobby have also rushed forward, but Bobby grabs Sam’s arm before he can join Castiel on the ice.

“Wait,” he says and grabs Dean’s sword and the rope from the pit. He ties it and hands it to Sam, who wraps it around his waist before he splays himself and begins to crawl on the ice towards the hole. 

Castiel is trying, desperately, to grab hold of the thrashing wolf. He’s managing to keep its head above water, but only just barely. Another minute, one wrong thrash and the wolf will sink.

Sam reaches him, and tries to help, but it's quickly evident that it’s no good. Sam makes the only decision he can and splashes into the water.

Freezing is not the word, and Sam gasps in shock as he grasps at the thrashing wolf. He wants to tell him to stop, but has no air for that. He grapples, trying to get a purchase, and the wolf’s claws dig at him, drawing long scratches that pierce his shirt and draw blood. He alternately snarls and whines.

Sam finally gets a hold and, as best as he can with nowhere to plant his feet, pushes the wolf up. Castiel gets a hold and together, Cas pulling and Sam pushing, they get the wolf onto the ice, where it collapses, panting.

Castiel helps pull Sam out of the water, and then together they manage to chivy and push the wolf across the ice, tying the rope loosely around it so that Bobby can help reel him in.

As soon as the three of them are on solid land, they lay there, panting for a moment. Then Sam starts shivering. Bobby grunts, and goes to help him up.

"Come on, best get you dry and those scratches tended to."

Sam nods and goes to the cart with him. Bobby shoves a blanket for Sam to wrap himself in and begins to tend to the scratches bleeding down his chest and arms. They aren’t so very deep, so all Bobby really does is to disinfect them and bandage them up. 

Castiel rests a moment, then carries the cold-stunned wolf into the pit, kicking aside the boughs that had been meant as cover. The wolf whimpers and struggles some, but Castiel manages to get him into the pit. The wolf whines, but stays laying on his side, panting heavily.

Castiel kneels next to him and strokes his fur.

“There there,” he whispers. “You’re safe now. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.”

Slitted amber eyes look at him from half closed lids, but there’s no understanding in them. Castiel closes his own eyes and presses his forehead to the wolf’s.

After a long moment, Castiel looks up at Bobby and Sam.

"This has to end," he says. "We need to live. As humans. Not like this."

Sam looks at him in pity. Bobby nods and grunts.

"Day after tomorrow," Bobby says. “If we can convince that idjit to give it a chance." Bobby sits back, his work done. Sam wraps the blanket around himself tighter.

"Tell him what I said," Castiel says, and climbs out of the bit to grab a second blanket. He goes back into the pit and covers the wolf with it.

Bobby fetches a small pouch and tosses it to Castiel. "Tell him yourself. That was sitting in my spare room."

Cas opens the pouch and reaches in, pulling out a piece of paper. He tilts it towards the torch and finds the letter he'd begun the previous night. He nods, and finds ink and quill in there as well, and sits down to pen the rest of the letter.

In the last hour before dawn, they all wait, none of them speaking. Bobby sits next to Sam, a flask in his hand that they share. In the pit, Castiel lays next to the wolf, petting his fur. The wolf is calm under the touch. Slowly, the touch calms Castiel as well, the panic and fear of loss ebbing. But he thinks again, prays the thought, _let this work._

When dawn begins to light the sky, Sam nudges a dozing Bobby, who jerks, then nods as he sees the light. The two move to a point where they can see inside the pit.

Castiel is still petting the wolf, hands against the coarse-soft fur, when he notices the edge of light creeping on the walls of the pit. He stops his stroking, and the wolf’s eyes slit open.

Castiel pulls back, until he is as far against the side of the pit as he can manage. The wolf’s eyes are all the way open now, and he lifts his head, curious. 

The light strikes him and Castiel watches, eyes wide as the transformation takes hold. Dean takes shape in front of him, the coarse black fur fading into smooth freckled skin. The moment his mind comes back is clear, because Dean’s eyes go wide and he sits up, staring at Cas in shock, confusion, amazement, desperate hope. His eyes are still the wolf’s, but the expression in them, it is a man’s.

For a moment, just a second, the lovers gaze at each other, a moment stolen from the curse that binds them.

Castiel stretches a hand out, Dean mirroring the motion. Castiel opens his mouth, ready to speak. Barely an inch separates their fingers.

Then the light strikes Castiel’s hand.

Dean stares up as the hawk flies up and out of the pit. He lets out a wordless shout of frustration and grief and curls into himself, shaking with too many emotions to name.

After a few minutes, he pulls himself together. He picks up the cloak next to him, breathes in the scent of Castiel as he wraps it around him for warmth (it really is damned cold) then rises to go find proper clothing.

Dean stops when he sees Sam and Bobby watching him. He scowls, but there’s no bite to it. 

His head is full of Cas and the loss suddenly made new, even as he focuses on Bobby and demands, “Was that your idea?”

Sam speaks. 

“It was Cas’s.” 

Dean stares at him. Sam’s expression is sad, and it’s sadness for him, Dean knows, and he hates that. Sam goes on. “He agrees with us, that it’s worth at least trying to break the curse.”

“I told you not to tell him!” Dean practically bursts. “I told you-”

“It wasn’t your decision alone to make!” Sam says, stepping into Dean’s space. “For fuck’s sake, Dean, think about it. It’s not just you that’s suffering, Cas is too. Or are you so caught up in your need for revenge that you’ll disregard his wishes and his life?” Sam crosses his arms. “Hell, you know who you remind me of? Dad. Remember how he would just toss us at Bobby while he went off to chase ghosts because he was too busy mourning Mom to even consider living?”

Wounded, unwilling to admit it, Dean glares at Sam. 

“You shut your mouth,” he growls, and shoves Sam to get past him, to go to Impala. Sam steps back to avoid the shove, but Dean makes contact with his chest still and Sam hisses in pain.

The sound passes through the anger, and Dean notices as a line of red seeps through Sam's shirt. “You’re hurt.” 

Anger instantly replaced with concern, he yanks at the shirt, ignoring the swat Sam aims at him.

Dean stares at the scratches. 

“What are these?” he asks.

“He got those while he was saving your fool hide,” Bobby says from behind Sam, his tone sharp.

Dean stares at him, then back at the scratches. He lets go of the shirt and steps back. Sam jerks the fabric back in place and wraps his blanket around himself again.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, though it feels inadequate.

“Yeah, well,” Sam says. He and Dean exchange a glance, Dean’s contrite and apologetic, Sam’s understanding, but still annoyed and angry. “It was the wolf that did that, not you.”

Dean nods, not so sure himself, but he accepts the forgiveness, though it is undeserved. Dean knows what he owes now. He sighs.

“Okay,” he says. “Tell me again how you propose to break this curse.”


	6. Return to Aquila

Bobby repeats his “day without night” spiel and Dean is still unconvinced by it. It sounds ridiculous, and impossible. He’s about to say so when Bobby hands him a letter.

Dean takes it, his sarcastic reply forgotten as soon as he sees the familiar handwriting. He goes to sit some distance from Sam and Bobby to open and read his letter.

_Dean,_

_It’s been weeks since I last wrote to you. I was worried you didn’t want to hear from me, given the lack of paper these few weeks, but Sam tells me that’s not the case, that you asked after me when you learned we’d met._

_I like Sam. He’s sensible and smart, and good company. A good fighter as well. You are right to be proud of him._

_Sam tells me you fought well today. I wish I could have seen that. I always enjoyed watching you fight. Before, I would watch you fight in training sometimes. At first, to gauge your strengths and weaknesses, should we fight together one day. Then because you were so fluid, and graceful, spotting your opponents’ weaknesses and taking full advantage of them._

_It was magnificent. You always were. I also remember how easily you beat me that first time we sparred. All you had to do was smile and I forgot myself. Do you remember? I look forward to the day we can spar again. I’m curious how your skills have developed these few years._

_Have you-_

_I never had time to finish this, and I’m glad I did not. Bobby told me of the witch’s cure, this “night without a day and day without a night” where we can be human together. He also tells me you think it’s bullshit, another false hope not worth trying._

_Dean, look at our lives. We live in false hope. As often as I speak of seeing you again in these letters, until this one it’s been wishful thinking only. But I would rather die than have no hope of seeing you again. Even if it’s a false one, it’s still hope._

_They believe it will work. I do too. Trust them, listen to them, try it. And for God’s sake Dean, at worst it’s only one extra day before you can kill Michael. Don’t give up on us._

_I will ask this, if you do get to be right: If it does not work, don’t kill Michael immediately. Get your half of the curse removed. Do what he wants, beg and get your life back before you take our revenge. If we cannot both be free, then at least you can be._

_I don’t know if the plan we have for this sunrise will work, but if it does not, or it has not swayed you to give Bobby’s plan a chance, then perhaps this letter will._

_Listen to Sam and Bobby. They have a plan and it is a good one. And we both deserve the chance to walk together in the sun._

_I miss you. I love you. Always, forever._

_-Castiel_

Dean folds the letter closed and presses it to his lips. Then he tucks it away and hastily rubs a hand over his eyes before he turns to look at Sam and Bobby. The two aren’t looking at him, which means they were probably watching. Dean scoffs, then clears his throat to get their attention.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it. Now tell me this ‘excellent’ plan of yours.”

Sam grins, and Bobby grunts in satisfaction.

“First things first,” Bobby says. “We’re going to need a cage.”

It takes them most of the morning to build Bobby’s cage onto the back of his wagon. When they finish, the result is makeshift at best, logs and branches hastily cut and bound together with rope. The three stand together and look at their handiwork.

“Are you sure it will hold?” Sam asks doubtfully.

“For your sake I hope so,” Dean says.

“It’ll hold,” Bobby growls. “Now come on, we’ve still got to get to the damn fortress.”

Dean and Sam exchange a glance, but they join Bobby, Sam on the wagon and Dean riding Impala as they ride with as much haste as they can manage towards Aquila.

They reach the town that surrounds the fortress just before sunset, and stop in a wooded area, away from prying eyes. 

Dean undresses and crawls into the cage. 

He looks at the bars with some discomfort, but all he says to Sam and Bobby is, “Good luck tonight.”

The sun sets. Inside the cage, the wolf paces its short space and growls, then starts to howl.

Castiel stares at the cage as he dresses. 

“I assume there’s an explanation for this.” He offers his hand for the wolf to sniff in an attempt to soothe it, but withdraws when the wolf snaps at him and growls.

“Part of the plan to get you both into Aquila,” Bobby says. “We’ll tell you the rest on the way.”

Castiel nods and after a moment, he throws the cloak on the cage and has Sam and Bobby help him cover it up. The wolf is not best pleased, but quiets, only growling and snarling as it’s jostled along the road. 

Bobby and Sam explain the plan, and Castiel nods, appearing mildly doubtful but willing enough to go along. 

When the road swings towards the moat, Bobby slows and halts the horses. As the cart stops, Sam and Cas both slide off it. 

Cas goes to the cage and moves the corner of a blanket aside to check on the wolf, offering a hand for it to sniff. The wolf still growls, but this time it sniffs the hand and lets Cas touch its muzzle.

Sam looks up at Bobby. 

“Good luck.” 

“You two as well. Don’t get caught.” Bobby’s tone is grumpy, then he relents and gets down to embrace Sam. “Come here, boy.”

Sam returns the hug then releases him.

Cas withdraws his hand from the wolf’s cage, the beast seeming a little calmer now. He turns to Bobby and nods to him.

“You too,” Bobby says to Cas, offering his arms. Cas is surprised, but not displeased, and hesitantly steps into the embrace, a quick squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it.”

Bobby climbs back onto the cart, takes up the reins and clicks to the horses. They start off again, heading for the entrance to the castle. Cas and Sam turn towards the moat.

“I should have asked earlier, how’s your swimming?”

One corner of Cas’s mouth quirks up. 

“Serviceable.”

They slide into the water, and swim towards the castle, aiming for the stretch of wall where the drain that had been Sam’s escape a mere week earlier was.

The night is eerily quiet save for the sounds of water and their own breathing. They reach the wall and search out the drain. The grate is closed. Cas pulls on it, and it swings open with a creak that makes both of them wince and stop to glance up at the ramparts before they pull it the rest of the way open.

“Say goodbye to your sinuses,” Sam mutters to Cas, and they climb into the foul sewers of Aquila.

Bobby is stopped when he reaches the bridge to the walled city. Two guards stand at the bridge, and one comes over. 

“What’s your business?”

“A gift for the general, from a retired soldier. A new pelt for his wall.” Bobby says. 

Curious, the guard brings a torch up to the cage and the wolf inside growls at him.

“He’s a big one.” The man grins as he examines the beast. He prods the wolf with the tip of his spear and it growls and snaps at him. “I’ve never had the pleasure of killing a wolf before.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. Idjit. 

“I’m sure the general will understand you depriving him of that pleasure. He’s a very...forgiving sort of man.”

The guard looks at Bobby, somewhat annoyed, but his fear of the general trumps that. 

“Very well, pass on.”

He steps back and nods to the other guard who has not moved from his post. The gate rises and Bobby takes the cart and its cargo inside the fortress.

They’d decided it was too risky that someone would recognize Castiel, which was why he had gone with Sam to the sewers. None of them, including Castiel, are completely sure that the hawk will find them come the morning among all the buildings, but it seems less risky than being recognized by far.

Castiel is beginning to reassess that risk, though, as he follows Sam through the cramped sewers. They both have to crouch to fit and it’s extremely uncomfortable and awkward.

“You escaped this way?” Castiel says, quietly so his voice won’t travel too far. He glances back the way they had come and sees a shape moving.

“Yeah. Somehow. I could have sworn the exit was just up this way…”

Sam trails off and Castiel stays quiet, though that’s partially to avoid breathing in the smell. Something slithers past his legs and he grits his teeth.

Sam leads them through a couple turns, then they have to backtrack when one turning leads to a dead end. 

“You do know where you’re going?” Castiel asks, irritated. “Because if you don’t, you’re the one who’s going to be stuck here with a very pissed off hawk. It’s nearly dawn.”

“We’re almost there, I promise,” Sam says, hardly less irritated. “Don’t worry.”

Castiel huffs, but follows. Yet another _something_ brushes past him and he looks down just in time to see yet another shadow disappear, and it’s too dark for him to decide if that was an unusually large rat or some other sewer beast.

“Here.”

The word is quiet, but he looks up to find Sam peering up a tunnel that angles up. A faintly lit grate is just visible a ways up. Castiel considers it. It doesn’t look big enough to fit a grown man in it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I'll go first, and you can, uh, push me up so I can get that grate off.”

Castiel sighs, but he nods and agrees. Sam scrambles up, and he just manages to fit. Castiel helps boost him up until Sam’s fully in the tunnel. Castiel pushes until Sam stops moving, then just stands there at an awkward angle, arms partially inside the drain, preventing Sam from sliding back down as he fiddles with the grate.

The curse is starting to itch faintly. They only have a few more minutes. Castiel grits his teeth and shoves.

“ _Hurry._ ”

There’s a metal clang, then Sam’s weight is off Cas’s arm and Castiel sees him shimmy up and out. _At last._

Castiel climbs in, and it really is a tight fit, but with perseverance and Sam reaching from above to help pull him up, he manages to get out.

“Tada,” Sam says, and grins from where he sits, panting.

“I'm surprised that worked,” Castiel tells Sam, breathing heavy for a moment. He looks around, then starts tugging off his sewer-ruined shirt, the itch stronger. Castiel recognizes the layout of the walls, if not the courtyard itself, if it can be called a courtyard.

“We’re at the wrong end of the castle,” he tells Sam. “You need to get to the other end to find the war room. Michael usually holds his meetings in the afternoon, so you should have time.”

Sam has been looking inside a broken woodshed. He turns and holds up a helmet triumphantly.

“This should help.”

Castiel eyes it and nods, then smiles at Sam.

“Yes, it should. Good luck, Sam. Be careful.”

“You too,” Sam says.

Castiel’s smiles and closes his eyes. Sam watches the transformation, as the light burns off the shape of a man and only a hawk is left.

The bird flies up and lands on the roof of the woodshed and shrieks at him, then it flaps and takes off again, calling as it circles over the fortress. Sam watches it for just a moment, praying this is in fact the last time that will ever happen.

Then he turns and contemplates the armor he’d stolen only a week ago. _Feels longer._

Sam decides he should maybe find a place to wash off the sewer smell first. He collects the armor, and then makes his way into the fortress.

Morning comes, and the wolf changes into Dean. Bobby hands him clothes through the bars, then they ditch the wagon and, with a hood hiding Dean’s face from those they pass, find a discreet hiding place not far from the entrance to the main keep. 

Then they wait.

And wait.

_And wait._

Cas-hawk finds them eventually, and lands on Dean’s upraised arm. Dean mutters nonsense to him as he ties on thin leather jesses and slips on a hood. Cas-hawk protests a bit, but settles, and Dean gently moves him to a perch on the cart. Then Dean settles back against the cart, and continues to wait.

The hours move slowly, the sun gradually creeping up in the sky.

It chafes, waiting in this alley, knowing that Michael is just there, in that fortress. Dean is so close to his revenge, he can practically taste it, copper and salt like blood.

But he’d promised them all to wait, give it a chance, so he sits there as the morning drags by, endless. He stares up towards the stained glass windows of the great hall. Michael is likely already there now, his councilors trickling in. Dean wonders idly how long it will take Sam to reach the room and infiltrate it. Is he there yet?

Dean sighs, and Bobby eyes him but doesn’t talk.

Just as well, too, Dean thinks, a bit annoyed. More false hope, more wasted time.

 _Cas believes this will work_ , he thinks suddenly. It sets an ill feeling in his stomach. Of course he does. He hasn’t realized, hasn’t witnessed all the times Dean and Bobby have tried to break it before.

And now Dean is going to go into that fortress, kill the man who cursed them and destroyed their lives.

Dean doesn’t intend to fail but- 

What if he does?

It’s an unsettling thought. He might die, killed by the guards, or killed by Michael. Leaving Cas to suffer the remnants of their curse alone.

Stuck in that half-life, alone, knowing from Sam and Bobby that Dean had given up on them. And Michael would still walk around, still free. Cas would probably go after him, and if Dean was no match for Michael-

“It will come,” Bobby says, interrupting Dean’s brooding. “Give it time, boy.”

Dean grunts. They don’t have time. Every second they could be discovered.

 _Cas believes this will work,_ he repeats to himself, but he can’t make himself believe it, too. 

The sun reaches its zenith, and Bobby silently hands Dean a bit of bread for their lunch. Dean accepts it, and forces himself to eat it.

How long must he wait? The day is long past half gone, and the sun has followed its normal course across the sky, no sign of some magical half night appearing. Dean snorts. 

It’s been long enough. Dean stands, checks that he has everything. Bobby notices.

“It should be soon now, once the clouds break.”

Dean rolls his eyes, tired of pretending. 

“It’s day, old man. Like it was yesterday, like it will be tomorrow.”

Bobby opens his mouth to speak, but Dean gets there first. 

“It’s too late, that meeting will be over soon, and I’ll have no easy way to get to him. Dammit Bobby, I can’t wait any longer!”

“If you kill the general now, you’ll never break the curse! This is your only chance-”

Dean glares. 

“Don’t you get it? The curse. Is. Unbreakable.” Dean grimaces, looking down. “But you’re right. This is my only chance. To kill Michael and get my- _our_ revenge.”

Bobby growls, exasperated. 

“You’re acting like a damn fool. Give it-”

“I’ve given it plenty of time, Bobby. Just- let me do this.” 

“What about Cas?”

Dean can’t look at him. His eyes fall to Cas-hawk and he looks away from him too.

“If I do fail…” his voice is quiet, wrecked even to his own ears. “If you hear those bells ring, you’ll know I failed. That I’m dead. If that happens, please...take his life, quick and painless.”

“I can’t do that!” Bobby says, aghast.

Dean gives him a pleading expression. 

“Yes, you can. If you do it before nightfall-he’ll never know. Never...he won’t…won’t suffer. Living like this, like we have? Without even the false hope of a cure? That would be cruel. Cas doesn’t deserve to live that way, nor does he want to. Read the letter he wrote if you don’t believe me.” Dean stares at Bobby. “Please.”

Bobby’s face flickers through too many expressions for Dean to process. Finally, his expression settles, resigned and pained. He nods once.

“Okay,” Bobby says, resignation in his voice.

Dean smiles, but it’s a weak thing. Then he turns and strides towards the fortress. 

Towards Michael and his revenge.


	7. Full Circle

Walking through the halls of the fortress in his stolen armor, Sam contemplates how completely full circle he’s come: From escaping this place to infiltrating it. Perhaps there’s some higher meaning to all this, some cosmic significance.

Or not, Sam thinks as the midday bells toll. Cosmic significance or mere coincidence, he still hasn’t found the war room and time must be running out.

Sam passes a window and looks out to see a sunny, cloudless sky. No sign of night yet. He turns away and back to looking for the right corridor that leads to the grand doors Dean had described.

At last he spots them, two large ornately carved doors. One of them stands open to a room with a large table in the center. Two guards stand on either side of the doors, looking bored.

Sam passes by them, and turns into the first hallway that branches of the main one he’s traversing. Dean had told them there were two servant entrances, and Sam finds the first.

Sam looks around for something he can use to block off the door. There are three entrances to the war room, and Sam intends only one of them to be usable in the upcoming confrontation. 

Finally deciding that the decorative side tables will have to do, he barricades the door. He casually walks around the other side, searching for the second entrance, to do the same there, before he heads back to the main corridor and the main set of doors.

He’s just in time. A small gathering of men, some armored, some in robes, file past and into the room. Sam waits until he sees a few plain guards dressed in similar armor to what he wears; he joins them as they filter into the room. No one gives him a second glance and he takes up a post near the double doors.

When Zachariah enters, Sam has to resist the urge to hide his face. He’s the only one here who might recognize Sam. But Zachariah is too intent on his conversation with a man in an elaborate long coat. 

As Zachariah stops talking and his conversational partner takes position in the center of the table, everyone hushes their conversations to attend to him. Sam realizes that this must be Michael, the general of Aquila and the cause of all Dean and Cas’s grief. Sam studies the general with interest.

The meeting begins to delve into troop movements and something about a siege. Sam stops looking at the general and instead stares at the stained glass across from him while he waits for Dean and Cas to arrive.

When Michael had taken over Aquila and adopted its castle as his fortress, he had walked into the banquet hall-impressive as it was, with a high table and stained glass windows lining the walls-and decided even as the blood of the former castle lord was drying on his sword, that he was going to make this his war room.

Almost all his meetings were held here, anything requiring more than two or three of his captains and advisors, messengers and allies. It was for the allies’ sake, more than anyone, that he chose this room. The high ceilings, the stained glass, the double doors (thick and easy to barricade and the servants entrances equally easy to guard), made it both impressive and safe.

He's in a meeting with his advisors discussing an ongoing siege when noise begins to filter from the hallway. Some of the advisors look up, and around, but the council continues on. The bells have not yet rung, so whatever the ruckus is, it’s being handled.

Then out of the corner of his eye, Michael notices one of the guards starts to move across the room. Something is off about him, and as the noises grow louder, suspicion flares in his mind. 

He turns to Captain Marquet.

Sam snaps to attention at the sounds of shouting. Dean and Cas, it has to be. He heads straight for the door. The guards there look at him suspiciously as he approaches

“I’m just going to check on whatever that is,” he says cheerfully, and reaches for the handle of the door, pulling it open a few inches.

Just in time.

Dean bursts into the war room, finding Michael surrounded by his advisers and a few aides. Zachariah stands at his side.

Everyone looks up at him, surprise etched onto every face but two. General Michael looks unsurprised, as if he had been expecting this. At his side, Zachariah partially draws his sword. Michael lays a hand on Zachariah's arm, halting him.

"Captain Winchester," he says. "How good of you to join us."

Dean glares and draws his sword. "Michael. You know why I'm here."

"To surrender at last?" Michael asks, then sighs. ”I suppose not. You always were too prideful, Winchester. Thinking you know better than anyone else." Michael nods to Zachariah, who grins and moves around the table, drawing his sword as he goes.

Dean looks at the other advisors as Zachariah approaches. 

"You all know me. Stay out of the way and I won't harm any of you. My business is solely with these two."

Michael rolls his eyes, but says to the advisors, "Let him have his way. It matters little."

"At last," Zachariah says, staring Dean down. "You've been too cocky by half, showing up here."

Dean grins savagely. 

"You remember that promise I made you?" Dean levels his sword, adjusting his stance, preparing for the fight. "Time for me to keep it." 

Zachariah scoffs, and attacks.

Their swords clash as Dean blocks the strike, the ring of metal echoing in the vaulted ceilings of the hall. He disengages then strikes back with a slash. Zachariah jumps back to avoid the blow.

The two men circle each other, each looking for openings. Dean feints to the right, watching Zachariah’s feet to see if the knight takes the bait. As soon as the other man shifts, Dean throws his shoulder forward, slashing at Zachariah’s knees, making him dance back out of range. Dean takes the advantage and harries him around the room.

The advisors move to the sides of the room, keeping out of the way. Michael watches, arms folded, his back to the stained glass windows.

Zachariah rushes at Dean, face twisted into a snarl. Dean ducks under the swing and reverses his grip on his sword, jabbing it upward into Zachariah’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. As Zachariah falters, Dean throws his left arm out, smashing his fist into Zachariah’s wrist, the sword clattering to the floor.

Dean stalks forward, backing Zachariah up till he’s pressed against the war table. 

“Yield,” Dean growls at him, advancing.

Zachariah fumbles his hands around on the table behind him, searching. His hand lands on his helmet, placed there for the duration of the meeting. He picks it up and throws it at Dean, more to distract than to injure, as he attempts to regain his footing.

The helmet sails past Dean, who side steps quickly, and the advisors behind him all scoot away. It smashes into one of the stained glass windows. It shatters, colored glass spraying into the open air. A few shards land inside the room, glittering in the half light.

Zachariah attacks, footing regained. Dean drops his sword, and they grapple, turning.

The late afternoon sun shines in on their struggle, but something about it is wrong. Dean has become so very sensitive to light conditions over the past three years, and it itches at him.

Dean finally manages to pin Zachariah, and he looks up at the broken window at a sun that is no longer shining as it should.

At a sun with a shadow beginning to inch its way across its face.

Dean stares a moment too long, paralyzed by the thought, _Bobby was right._

Then Zachariah counters Dean and throws him off. With sun spots dancing in his vision, Dean spends the next few minutes just keeping himself intact, suddenly on the defensive. 

Zachariah attacks as a madman, his intent to butcher Dean, but Dean, his goals have changed drastically. He’s no longer fighting for revenge.

He's fighting for time. 

_Come on Cas,_ he prays desperately.

Dean parries a blow and slashes, forcing Zachariah to defend, but he counters the swing and puts Dean on the defense.

_How long do they have? How long will this chance last?_

The alarm bells haven't sounded yet, perhaps there's still time. Sudden regret at his request to Bobby flares, and he uses it to fight harder against Zachariah.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Sam by the door, holding off two guards.

 _Thank you, Sam_. 

Then Dean has to refocus, keep Zachariah off him. 

He doesn’t see two guards draw Sam away enough for a third to get the door open and run through it. 

All Dean knows is that a few moments later, his worst fear comes true as the bells begin to toll.

"No!" He cries, and launches himself at Zachariah with sudden fear and grief.

They are both tired now, panting with effort, but this. This is where he thrives, devoid of hope, filled with rage, at the last minute. Zachariah lunges, and Dean sees his opportunity. He yanks his dagger out of his belt and stabs upward just in time.

Zachariah's sword clatters to the ground, and for a few seconds the man stares at Dean, unable to talk for the dagger speared through his chin and mouth.

"I told you I was gonna stab you in your fucking face," Dean says, and yanks out the dagger. Zachariah tilts and falls to the ground. He convulses for a few seconds, blood pooling, then stills, dead.

Dean looks up, seeing through broken glass how the sun is fully covered now, too late, far, far too late. The bells tolling outside aren’t an alarm, they’re a death knell.

Dean turns and looks directly at General Michael. Grief and anger war inside him. He tamps down the former and focuses the latter on the man who brought him to this point.

A few advisors, not liking the hard glint in Dean's eyes, slip out. Sam lets them pass. Dean pays them no mind. He stalks towards the general.

Michael is no coward and draws his sword. He half smiles, his tone amused. 

"Why, Captain, surely you know that if you kill me, you'll never have peace."

"You mean the curse?" Dean spits the words, noting with satisfaction the confused looks on the faces of the assembled advisors. "It's been mentioned. But that doesn't matter anymore." 

Nothing does.

Michael is clearly displeased with Dean's open acknowledgment of the curse, but replies, "And what of your lover? Does Commander Novak agree with this decision? Ah." He pauses, smiles faintly. "I suppose you haven't been able to ask him, have you."

The knot in his throat tightens as Dean answers, voice rough with suppressed emotion, "Cas is dead."

Michael looks surprised at that, and Dean takes the chance to step closer, sword raised.

Michael is not an opponent to be trifled with under normal circumstances, but these are not normal circumstances. Dean's mind is devoid of anything but hatred for this man, and the desire to finally exact his revenge. 

A few moments of thrust and parry is all it takes to disarm the general. Dean gains a cut upon his right cheek during the fight, such as it was, but the blood dripping off his chin and rolling down his throat doesn’t even register to him.

Dean forces Michael to his knees, his sword nicking a line on the general's throat. 

"God, I've waited so long for this." He pulls the sword back, ready to strike, to end this son of a bitch's miserable life.

"Dean! Stop!"

Dean freezes, sword arm extended. He'd never thought to hear that voice again. He stares down at the general for half a second, then turns slowly to face the door.

Castiel stands there, alive and well and _human_. He stares at Dean, and Dean stares right back at him. A long moment passes between them, as they drink each other in.

Unnoticed behind Castiel, Bobby enters the room, joining Sam at the doorway.

A movement behind him forces Dean out of his shock. He turns, finding Michael with his arms raised, covering his eyes.

Dean's face hardens, and he pushes his sword under the general's throat, forcing his hands away.

"Look at me," he says and when Michael doesn't open his eyes, Dean draws another line of blood as he forces the general's chin up. "Look at me!"

Slowly, reluctantly, and with pure fury in his eyes, Michael does. Dean keeps his sword pressed to the general's chin and reaches to grab the man's collar, facing him towards Cas. "Now look at him."

Cas has taken a few steps forward, stopping just at the edge of the light cast from the broken window. His gaze is also focused on Michael, expression tense. His eyes flick to Dean a moment later.

Satisfied that Michael has obeyed him, Dean drops the collar and steps back, so that Michael is forced to see him and Cas together. 

"Now. Look at us." It takes effort to keep his voice from cracking completely.

His sword is no longer at the general's throat, but it doesn't seem to matter. The general stares at them both, human together, in the light of an eclipse.

Day without night. Night without day.

Michael's face is no longer furious. He looks between them, apparently resigned to his defeat.

The moon has begun moving away from the sun, and light grows.

Dean turns to Cas finally, and sees him, still human. Hope wells up. They have done it, but he is afraid. What if it didn't work?

He sees his fear reflected in Cas's face, as Cas looks at him then at the light of the window. Cas steps into it, bracing himself.

Nothing happens.

Cas stares at the light reflecting on his hands for a long moment, tilting them this way and that. Then he looks up and lets out a soft exclamation, half laughter, half relief. He takes a few more steps towards Dean.

Dean doesn't know when his feet moved, but he, too, is closer, his sword dropping to his side. He raises his free hand, reaching.

Cas raises his own, and their hands meet.

The touch is enough to send shockwaves through Dean, because this cannot be real.

"Cas," he says, unable to find any other words.

"Dean." 

Dean drops his sword to embrace Cas. He closes his eyes, and sighs, happy, disbelieving. Cas holds him just as tightly back.

“Isn’t this touching.”

Michael’s scathing tone has the lovers pull apart to look at him. Dean immediately bends down to grab his sword. Michael makes no move towards them, and though he’s regained his own sword, he holds it at his side pointing down. 

“It’s over,” Dean tells him. “You’ve lost.”

Michael tilts his head thoughtfully. 

“Have I? What exactly will you do now, the two of you? My offer still stands. Come back to the fold. I’ll even let you keep up…” he waves a hand vaguely. “This, if you like.”

Dean is incredulous. 

“What makes you think we’d ever join you again, after _everything_ you did?”

“He’s losing,” Castiel says, understanding. He looks at the table, the map, and the smaller number of captains and advisors in the room. Several of them shift uncomfortably. 

Michael nods. 

“I had hoped to get just the one of you back, but this is actually much better. Come back, and your sins will be forgiven. That troop in the hills, poor dead Marquet here. I have tasks that could use your unique skills. Both of you.”

Dean looks at Castiel. He would rather die than go back to work for the man who stole their lives, and he finds the same thought reflected in Cas’s eyes.

“No,” Dean says, turning back to Michael. “Fight your war without us.”

Michael nods, unsurprised. 

“Very well. In that case,” he brings his sword up and barks an order to the room at large. “Kill them!”

Sam and Bobby both move to step between the captains already drawing swords and approaching Cas and Dean.

“Leave this to the general,” Sam advises the men he faces. “You heard what has been said. Michael is a sorcerer, and he did terrible things. You know them, do you really think they would betray a _just_ general?”

A couple hesitate, then decide they’d rather wait and see how this plays out. Two still approach, and Sam finds himself locked in combat.

Bobby just glares at the ones he faces.

“Don’t even try it,” he growls. “This ain’t between you, it's between those three and them alone.”

Only one dares attack him. Bobby fends him off.

The three in the center of the room pay little mind to the battles behind them, though Michael snorts quietly, his eyes flicking at Sam and Bobby in turn.

“Nice to have friends.” Dean grins. “You want us dead? Do it yourself.”

“As I should have done in the first place,” Michael says, and launches into an attack at Castiel, who’s already dodging, going for Zachariah’s lost sword. Dean blocks Michael’s swing and keeps him busy. Then he kicks the general, forcing him back and Castiel attacks. Michael attempts to dodge the blow and the cut scrapes over his armor. 

Bobby disarms his opponent, and knocks him hard enough that the man goes sprawling and doesn’t move. He goes to join Sam, who is holding off the two, but unable to get an advantage on either without the other forcing him back to defense. Together they hold them off.

Dean and Cas harry Michael, who can’t hold them off for long. Before, they had been a smooth killing machine, always aware of the other, moving jointly. Even after years apart, that practice shows. They soon have Michael on his knees, Dean’s sword once more at his throat.

Bobby and Sam finish off their opponents, one dead, the other surrendering when he sees his general defeated for the second time that day. Together, they turn to watch the rest of the drama unfold.

Dean is ready to strike the killing blow, but Cas puts a hand on his, stilling him. Dean looks at him questioningly, but Cas is focused on Michael.

Castiel stares down at the defeated general with glacier-cold eyes and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a few small objects and holds them up to show Michael: his hawk bonds, and the falconry hood. He tosses them at Michael’s feet. The general looks at them bitterly.

“It’s over,” Castiel tells him. “All of it. It's done. You are done.”

Castiel flicks his eyes to Dean then and nods as he steps back.

"You can rot in hell, you son of a bitch," Dean says, and he swings. 

The general’s body crumbles to the ground. 

Dean looks down at the corpse for only a moment, then turns back to Cas. He steps forward and hugs him again, resuming their interrupted embrace. Cas’s arms come up around him, but after a moment, he pulls back, only far enough so they can look at each other.

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, awe in his voice. 

“It's really you,” Dean says, equally in awe. “This isn’t a dream, it’s really you.”

Cas smiles and shakes his head. He leans his forehead against Dean’s, reaching a hand up to cup Dean’s cheek. 

“It’s really us,” he says. “I missed you.”

Dean laughs shakily. 

“Me too.”

They just smile and smile and smile at each other for a long moment, completely forgetting their audience. Dean leans forward, Cas readily meets his lips. They kiss long and slow, three years’ worth of heartache and longing needing to be released.

While the two lovers are distracted, Bobby and Sam look at each other.

“We did it,” Sam says, giddy.

Bobby grunts, but he’s grinning, and as he looks back at the happy couple, there’s the gleam of a tear in his eyes. He wipes at that. 

“Yes,” he says gruffly. “We did. Does my heart good to see them together.”

“Getting soft in your old age?” Sam jokes.

“As if you ain’t just as pleased.”

Sam smirks and chuckles.

Around them the captains and advisors murmur amongst themselves. Their general is dead, and no one is quite sure if they should be avenging him or not. Enough doubt has been sown in their mind that no one has yet made a move.

Bobby and Sam glance at the whispering men and women around them.

“We should get out of here,” Sam says. Bobby nods. They turn to approach Dean and Cas.

Cas and Dean have broken apart already, still holding each other, though now they’re just murmuring to each other. Sam thinks they might never let go.

The two turn and look at Sam and Bobby.

“We should go,” Sam says.

The two lovers finally notice the way everyone is talking, a few watching them with undisguised interest or question. Dean picks up his sword, and cleans it on Michael’s robes before sheathing it. Cas takes his hand and they all exit the room together. 

One man does make an attempted move towards them, but a burly man with a beard stops him. They exit the room, and keep walking.

Sam expects them to be stopped by someone, but no one does. Dean nods at the guards at the main entrance and the four of them walk straight on through.

The sun is completely unshrouded by the time they reach the cart and horses. Castiel tilts his head towards the sky a moment, eyes closed, then opens them and turns to Sam.

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “For getting us here, and bringing us back together. You’re the truest friend and brother we could have.”

Sam grins and claps Cas on the shoulder. “Of course. I’m happy for you.”

Castiel smiles, then looks at Bobby, presumably to thank him as well, but Dean speaks first.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” Dean says, not looking at Bobby directly.

“You’re forgiven,” Bobby says gruffly, and pulls him into a hug. “It’s good to have you back. Both of you,” he says to Castiel as he releases Dean. 

“Thank you for not giving up on us.”

Bobby nods. 

“What’s family for?”

They finally clamber onto the cart and ride out of town. They seperate at the crossroads, Dean and Cas intending to go their own way for a bit.

“Time to get to know each other again,” Dean says. “We’’ll meet you back at your place in a week or two.”

Bobby nods. 

“Don’t wait so long this time,” he says gruffly.

“Are you going with him?” Castiel asks Sam.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam says. “My only plan a week ago was to get out of Aquila and start a new life. Bobby’s is as good a place for that as any.”

“Be seeing you then, bitch,” Dean says.

“Later, jerk.”

The brothers grin, and exchange a quick hug. Sam claims one from Cas as well while Dean gets one from Bobby.

“Take care of him,” Sam tells Cas.

“I will.”

“And yourself.”

Cas smiles. 

“I will. See you soon, Sam.”

Sam and Bobby continue on, leaving the lovers behind.

“My house is as good a place as any, huh?”

“Well,” Sam says. “It is something like home.”


	8. Epilogue

That evening, Cas and Dean wait on a hill overlooking Aquila. They sit some distance away from Impala and a tan horse bought from a passing trader.

They haven’t lit a fire, and they sit holding hands watching the sky as twilight falls. They want to be sure the curse is truly broken, not just Castiel’s half.

The sun sets.

Their hands remain entwined.

Dean laughs, and stares up at the night sky.

“It’s really broken. It’s really over.”

Castiel kisses his cheek. 

“It is.”

Dean turns to him and kisses him sweet and soft. They don’t rush it, knowing now that they have time. Dean leaves a spare kiss on Cas’s lips, a quick peck of lips. Cas smiles at him.

“I love you,” Cas says, twining their fingers together.

“Love you, too.”

After a few minutes, they lay down and curl together, arms wrapped around each other. 

They watch the stars until they fall asleep, sharing a happiness that most people can only dream of.


End file.
